Keep Me Watching
by Lukascovitz
Summary: Set 6 years after the Jurassic World incident. After disappearing from the public eye and Owen, Claire is pulled back into the fray when the island's bought by Carbine Industries, an energy company intent on finding the party at fault. Contains strong language and heavy themes on mental illness. All reviews welcome. Thanks for reading. :)
1. Chapter 1

**Keep Me Watching.**

 **Chapter 1.**

A hatchback races down the street, kicking up a lot of dust from the road. The repetitive thumps of music from the end of the street encourage her. From the sound of it, the place is busy. Good. The locals are already drowning their sorrows in their favourite liquors. Their off key karaoke leaving the open door affirms her that it's going to be a good night for dissolving into the background.

People wolf whistle as she climbs onto the porch; the locals being their usual selves. Her lips stretch upwards at the thought of the attention, but she carries on uninterested.

The bartender smiles as soon as she steps foot in the main room.

"Rachel!" he waves, calling her over despite the number of bodies on the bar stools. "Your usual?"

"Please, Eddie," sheanswers.

"Comin' right up," he sends her an easy smile.

She bobs her head before retreating to the dark alcove at the back of the room. Most of the men around her stumble to beat of the local band performing. A fast paced story of some man and his true love…she's heard it so many times that she can recite the lyrics backwards.

"Here you go," Eddie slides the wine glass over the table.

"Thanks," she smiles.

He leans against the table, drumming his fingers against the top.

"Say, how long've you been 'ere? A year now is it? And it still feels like I barely know you. And trust me, that's rare for a barkeep such as myself," he grins, adjusting his black bow tie.

"It's…"

Complicated?

Awkward?

Difficult to explain?

"…a long story," she finally says.

"Another time, maybe?" he asks, before looking over his shoulder to Friday night's rush.

"Yeah," she nods.

 _Maybe in another five years, eleven months and twenty nine days…but not now._

Rachel takes a sip of her dry white. Eddie leaves to help with the demand for "more beer!" She shuffles back into the cushions and dissolves into the darkness. The couple in the next booth along lean on one another; his arm wrapping around his companion, circling a thumb over a single spot on his arm. Women at the bar swig Sambuca shots after a count of three, one giggling blonde hits the floor before clumsily staggering to her feet.

The other regulars are in; Stetson man – who always wears the same chequered shirt and hat – hunches over a bar stool, bottle in hand. He speaks to Eddie – a rare occasion – and gradually sips at his beer.

The bearded man with the sunglasses sits in the opposite corner of the bar; a bright white cane lies along the table top and a half empty glass of water sits an arm's length away. He – like Stetson – rarely speaks to the other regulars. In some way, she can relate to Stetson and Sunglasses. No one troubles them, they are loners in their own little worlds.

Rachel looks at her own drink, a drop of condensation dribbles down the outside of the glass and down the stem. She has to be careful. One glass. No more. It isn't worth the risk of blabbing her mouth off if she got a little too intoxicated. Her hand absently rises to play with the dark brown ends of her hair.

 _One day,_ she tells herself, _one day I'll be able to say something._

The front door swings gently closed. The new customer pushes through the pack of fumbling dancers and takes a rare vacant seat at the bar. He briefly looks at Rachel around the room before calling Eddie over.

 _Where have I seen him before?_

Rachel studies the guy; his face half covered with a thick brown beard, a scar cuts down his right cheek.

 _Hmmm, maybe he just looks like someone…_

The guy turns in her direction, catching his bottle of beer with an open hand. His eyes fix on her.

Her heart begins to beat faster.

"Gary! There you are!"

The man rises from his seat and heads into the booth beside her.

Rachel takes a deep breath.

 _I really should stop worrying…_

The music…the people…her head begins to swim…

 _No. Not here. Not now._

She downs the rest of her drink, places a couple of bills under the base and leaves.

 _I need to be careful,_ she reminds herself. _Especially after what happened in San Diego...and in Connecticut._

But she has to keep moving…for survival.

Rachel wraps her jacket tighter, her arms having gone pimply with goosebumps, and heads away from the small bar. The music fades as she approaches the end of the street that is lined with cars. One driver having forgotten to turn their head lights off.

Her hand shakes as she glides the key into the lock.

She leaves the character of 'Rachel' at the door.

An overflow of paper spills from her living room into the hallway.

"God damn it," she sighs.

She must've pressed the print button twice…again.

 _Files, I need more files._

Her lips turn slightly upwards at the thought. She slams the door closed and checks all the locks twice. Claire drops her keys onto the small table in front of her and strides over to pick up the latest field day the press were having on the _incident_ as new information had surfaced.

Yet another stupid whistle blower looking for their fifteen minutes.

 _What's that? The fourth time…or fifth this year?_

Claire shakes her head.

The files lining a whole wall of the front room lay testament to the incident at Jurassic World; autobiographies of survivors have their own shelf on an adjoining bookcase. The latest one lies abandoned on the floor, open and highlighted with numerous errors – some exaggerations and others outright lies. The book will soon find its new home on Claire's 'complete crap' shelf.

But with each book release came the relief that some of her most trusted colleagues had kept their mouths shut; Barry, Lowery, Vivian…and Owen. They'd been smart, been brave…she hadn't.

She sighs and straightens up the sheets.

"God damn it," she curses.

The text is streaked with deep black lines.

 _Yet another damn thing to add to the shopping list. It can wait,_ she looks down at the book. _Everything can wait._

Right now, she needs sleep.

Her heart. Thumping.

 _Gotta go. Gotta go now._

Her hands clumsily shove clothes into a bag.

 _He'll see. He'll see._

Run. Run as fast as you can. It's the only way. The only way you can escape. Run. Survive!

The pieces of paper scatter in the wind; a tornado in an endless room. She picks up a sheet. A report that she wrote to Masrani sealed with the familiar blue and silver logo of the now extinct theme park. The paper folds in on itself, sharp creases appear as it takes the form of a long, curved triangular prism. A tooth… The carpet of A4 floats, before flying past her, slicing her exposed legs with paper cuts. They fold together; an ornate and complex puzzle that creates the unmistakable form of the Indominus Rex. Its heavy breaths rasp like shifting gravel.

"No," her voice is barely a whisper. "You're dead. I saw it. You're dead."

The creature bears its teeth defiantly, almost grinning at her.

"No," Claire repeats. "You're dead!"

The Indominus takes a step forward, her snout millimetres away. A foul smell arises from her mouth. A concoction of rotten flesh and sea water. Bile rises to the back of Claire's throat.

She screams and sprints to the bathroom, managing to make it in time.

"It's dead," she repeats.

 _I saw it happen. I saw it…_

She downs a couple of herbal sleeping tablets. The taste used to make her gag…now it doesn't bother her so much. She runs a hand through her dyed hair. She did prefer it natural…but people would recognise her; ask her questions that she couldn't answer. The more anonymous she is…the better.

Claire steps back into her bedroom and finds her laptop under a pile of dirty clothing. Opening it, the screen immediately lights up, basking her in a white glow. Her last search pops up: Jurassic World. She had to know. Like an itch she's unable to scratch.

A new link appears at the top of the screen, one blue amongst the purple lines that she has read and re-read several times.

Jurassic Bust.

By Donna Sullivan.

In the wake of the sixth year anniversary of the massacre that occurred at Jurassic World, many families still have unanswered questions concerning their loved ones.

No person should ever have to face the excruciating pain of wondering what really happened to their parent, sibling or close relative. Yet as each day passes, many high ranking Jurassic World officials have declined comment on the infamous incident.

With Simon Masrani out of the picture, the questions fall to Senior Assets Manager Claire Dearing, who has not been seen since a month after the incident.

Other board members remain directly in the firing line as dangers on Isla Nublar prevent authorities from conducting a full investigation on what happened in the moments leading up to the disaster.

Many eye witnesses claim that incident began with the escape of the Dimorphodon and Pteranodon from the aviary. So what happened before? There have been no history of the park experiencing containment issues, which leads us to believe that this was due to another cause.

Some speculation that has been both confirmed and denied by lower ranked workers is that the escape was due to the park's newest attraction, the Indominus Rex. Details are still unknown about this monster, though images and videos have surfaced on the internet of the alleged beast. Some witnesses also claim that a team, including Ms Dearing, were able to corral the beast…with the help of the locally trained velociraptors and tyrannosaurus rex. (Really?)

The lack of communication by Masrani Global, their research department InGen – headed by Dr Henry Wu – and fellow employees asks the question: what have they to hide?

With the number of deaths totalling 783, isn't it time that those families had some peace of mind? Does this incident somehow affect the future of this country? Or is something more sinister going on?

There have been three attempts to bring back the dinosaurs, yet each time has ended in catastrophic disaster. So is it time for Hammond's dream to finally be put to rest? Or will another attempt of playing God come to haunt us?


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two.**

The clock strikes twelve. Claire rubs her eyes.

"Jeez, how long was I out?" She yawns.

Her laptop lies upside down at the side of the bed; its battery dead.

She drapes her feet over the edge and cracks her ankles; a constant reminder of her time running in heels.

 _Owen was right,_ _those shoes were stupid…_

The hairs on her arms stand to attention.

 _Owen._

Even thinking about him triggers the memories. Leading her two nephews across a dinosaur infested jungle; the Indominus; the deaths...it's why she left.

 _What I did benefited us both,_ she tells herself. _For survival._

Hopefully, he's in another state, enjoying a nice quiet life – if that is even possible for that man.

 _That doesn't matter now._

Her stomach groans in agreement. Besides, she has a busy schedule today. Inside a drawer, she finds a pair of dark jeans and retrieves a blue blouse from the chair in the corner of the room. Before heading out, she plugs in her laptop to charge; a vital resource to the outside world…to the past…to _them._ Her internet history was littered with the names of her old colleagues; Lowery, Vivian, Wu, and Owen – though he was the most difficult to track.

Later, halfway through a mouthful of waffle, she pauses.

 _Why do I care about him so much?_

The thought of his name reminds her of so much grief yet she checks the same website for any updates on his whereabouts…every day.

 _That's not obsessive, is it? I'm curious, that's all._

She finishes her plate.

 _Sure, he was cute. Any girl could see that, and he did risk his life to save me…but I returned the favour so…_

She pushes a greasy finger along her temple.

 _It was one kiss…a nice one but still only one. People don't fall head over heels for one another after a single smooch. Do they?_

Her head begins to throb. Gingerly, she reaches for her pain killers.

 _I've got to stop thinking about him; there are other things to do. More important things to do. Like that damned article; that needs adding to the files and... I'm sure there's something else I should be doing…_

she moves to her living room, picking up a key on the way. The small lock on the drawer shifts, snapping open for the first time in six years. An ancient Samsung sits, dust covering its screen. She cleans it with the hem of her shirt and holds down the 'on' button. It turns on first time.

Five minutes later, after sticking it on charge, she types in her password and finds her recent call list. Lowery's name sits near the top, beneath it, the date of _that_ day.

"I need you to open Paddock Nine," she'd told him.

It was a last hope. A last ditch attempt to save them, Zach and Gray…and Owen.

She finds his name on her contact list and holds her thumb over the call button.

She can smell the faint odour of the foliage…the fear…the manure that she'd slathered over herself at his behest…

The phone vibrates over and over in her hand… _Ping! Ping! Ping! Ping! Ping! Ping! Ping! Ping! Ping! Ping! Ping! Ping! Ping!_

 _Where are you?_

 _Where've you gone?_

 _I need 2 c u! Please Claire._

 _Talk to me._

 _Haven't heard from u in a while. Just want 2 kno if ur ok? Please txt me back Karen xxxxxx_

 _Miss you like hell. The kids want to c u. Please Claire. Don't ignore this. We need to talk Karen xxxxxx_

 _Hey Aunt C. Mom's getting worried. We all miss you. Call me please Zach xxx_

Years' worth of texts pour in until her memory is full.

 _Why did I do that? Why did I turn this thing on?_

The sickening feeling in her stomach grows. Her hands begin to violently shake. Her vision darkens.

 _Get a grip,_ she tells herself. _You've got this._

Clasping her hands together, she focuses on a random file on the opposite wall.

"It's over. I'm safe. The Indominus is dead," she repeats over and over.

Slowly, her hands begin to steady. The stench of the island begins to fade. She's back in her front room, surrounded by her research.

 _Where are they? What are they doing right now?_

The armchair screeches as she takes off to the bedroom.

 _It must've recharged by now…_

Her fingers pound the keyboard of her MacBook. Lowery is always her first port of call; being always the easiest to track. He is where he's always been. Back in California, working for a private security firm as tech support. The media coverage of Wu and his band of scientists has dried up over the years, but some reports claim that he is abroad. She finds Vivian's profile on the Masrani Global website, on the same page with people Claire used to rub shoulders with in the days before promotion and Jurassic World.

But Owen…Owen was always a problem… The Google results page brings up a number of purple links leading to pages last edited years ago.

 _What did I expect?_

The pang of disappointment replaces the pain in her stomach. She pulls up an old photo, one that she had snapped of the brief month or so before…her disappearance.

He perches on a bar stool hunched over, a line of empty shot glasses sit on the bar behind him. He grins childishly. He'd ignored the camera phone completely and he stared directly at her. A snapshot of a night to remember, which led to Claire dragging him to his bed at four in the morning. His head was swimming, his lips whispering random things into her ear as she helped him take off his shirt which stank of tequila.

"Did you knooooow that Blue could cross Isla Soooorna-" he slurred.

"Isla Nublar," she had corrected him.

"Yeah…that one," he smiled devilishly at her. "At its widest point in around fifteen mints?"

Owen hiccupped.

"Minutes," she corrected him again. "And I do, you told me that one earlier…about three times."

"Stay with me," he asked, slumping down on the bed.

"Not tonight," she had answered, ignoring his puppy eyes. "But I'll be next door if you need me. Now go to sleep."

"Aww," he whined.

Claire's lips turn upwards.

 _I sounded like Karen talking to Gray…_

 _I miss them._


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three.**

Her head turns to the hallway.

 _What was that?_

Something gently knocks against her front door.

 _There it is again…_

The chair squeals slightly as it grinds against the floorboards.

"Hello?" she calls out.

Her answer is silence.

"Is anyone there?"

A knife might be too hasty. Especially after the last stunt she pulled in Connecticut, which resulted in a visit from the cops.

 _Could be the mail._

She tiptoes to the door.

 _Could be a neighbour…_

She grabs the door handle.

 _Could be..._

She pulls it open.

"Hi."

 _What…_

"Can…can we talk?"

A sick feeling plummets into her stomach.

"Claire please, there's something that you need to know."

She glances down at the large manila envelope in his hand.

"What…what are you doing here?"

"Just to talk," he holds his hands up in surrender.

"And…and what if…I say no?"

"Then I'll leave and you'll never see me again."

"What do you want to talk about Owen?"

"InGen. We think that we've got 'em."

She steps aside.

"Thanks."

He sweeps past her, smelling of grass and dirt. _His signature odour._

"Nice place," he comments, stopping at the bottom of the staircase.

She closes the door and follows him to the kitchen.

 _This makes no sense…I left no trail…how's he found me? This has gotta be a dream…it's one of those crap ones like the one with the Indominus…and that night. It's gotta be. I was careful. I'm in the middle of bloody nowhere._

He places the envelope on the table before taking a seat.

"What's this?"

"Ammunition," he says. "Plus it's not what you'd call light reading."

"Care to be more specific?"

She drags it closer and opens it. A thick booklet slides out with a large white 'I' and 'G' printed on a blue background. A sick feeling implants itself in her stomach. TOP SECRET is stencilled below in bold red letters. She slides it back inside the envelope.

"This is a report from Wu. Most've its redacted or stuff we already know, but some of the good stuff's been decoded."

"How'd you get it?"

"Took it before we were off the island."

"And you've had it six years?"

"Well, _I_ haven't but-"

"So you came all this way to show me this?"

"Yes…I thought that it was a good idea...but judging from your reaction, you didn't want to know."

"Owen…I've left all that behind."

"Oh I know, since you bailed on me that night."

"Is _that_ why you really came here? To ask me why I left?"

"Was it something I said? Did I do something wrong?"

She picks at the hem of her t-shirt.

"Was it…something else?"

"I…it's complicated."

"No. You can use that excuse with everyone else…but not me, okay? I want to know. I _have_ to know."

"Things used to be so simple," she says after a long silence. "Jurassic World changed all that."

"The world's never sorted itself into those little boxes like we'd ever want them to," Owen says. "Is that it? Those compartments couldn't handle the Indominus and what happened?"

"To have that sense of helplessness-"

"Claire, you weren't helpless," he interjects softly. "If you hadn't got the T-Rex, who knows what would've happened."

"What if?" she smirks. "I've got a bunch of those. _What if you hadn't gone into the paddock? What if I'd called Lowery there instead of panicking? What if Masrani was still here?_ "

"It happened," Owen slowly states. "We just need to pick up the pieces."

"You make it sound so easy. _Hey, let's just take down a multimillion dollar corporation_ ," she shrugs. " _It's no biggie_. _Oh and while we're at it, we can just forget that_ people died."

"That island really changed you, didn't it," he answers quietly. "I remember the first time I saw you. We were in the control room, you all business like and me…well, covered in mud after a training session with the raptors. Remember?"

She bobs her head.

 _Yeah, and you stank too._

"We discussed the raptors, how much food they needed; how many acres they had, was it enough…y'know, that kind of thing. You had control of everyone in that room and 99.9% of people in that park," he sends her a sympathetic smile. "Now I just think that you're scared you'll never have that control again."

She pulls out a loose thread.

"Is that it? Is that why you don't want to go back? You've got little control of what happens there?"

 _No, it's more than that. It's the nightmares, the victims…you. I can't control anything anymore…not even my own life._

"Claire, you okay? You just seemed to black out for a second there."

She nods, clasping on to the back of her dining room chair.

"If you come with me, help me with this, you could get that security back. Think about it, all the questions'll be answered, the press'll finally get the hint that it wasn't our fault-"

"But it _was_."

"It wasn't," he replies. "But for argument's sake, let's say that it was. Don't you want to fix it? Sleep well at night? Not have a front room dedicated to it?"

She drags the seat back and sits down.

"Progress has been made to find Wu and his band of merry men. We've an inkling as to where they're hiding."

"Who's we?" she looks up from her lap.

"If you come with me, I'll tell you."

"No, you're going to tell me. Now."

"And why's that? Surely you trust me."

She grinds her teeth.

"I'm here to help; to make things right between us; to help you get better."

"What makes you think that?" she answers, folding her arms.

"The files? How many trees did you have to cut down to fill all those? Oh, and the books all over the floor."

"Owen, if you really want to help me, you'll tell me how you found me? Why now?"

"Have you ever heard of Carbine Industries?"

"The energy company? Sure. What've they got to do with this?"

"They've taken over a select portion of Masrani Global's stock and basically become the largest shareholders. Carbine said, and I quote, 'we want to build on the legacy that Simon built, especially in the energy sector'."

"Why do I have a feeling that that's not what they want?"

"Ah, but here's the good news. They want to stop the pressure coming from the US Government and so they've completely separated InGen from Masrani Global."

"This wasn't in the news, how do you know all this?"

"They approached me, made me an offer that I couldn't refuse."

"And what was that?"

"The chance to put all this right."

"Okay…so what do they want the island for?"

"That's classified."

"Really?" She raises an eyebrow. "You know exactly what happened last time with details that were 'classified'. So how about you cut the crap and tell me what they want it for?"  
"I have a better idea. Come with me and the CEO'll tell you himself."

"And you trust him?"

"Honestly," he says. "Yeah. I do. Trust me, please, that's all I ask."

Claire looks over her shoulder at the doorway to her living room. The books that need fact checking; the new articles that need printing and highlighting…

 _But what if Carbine are like InGen? He seems to trust them…_

"If I agree, you promise that it's just to see what they want?" he unfolds his arms

"Okay."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

A smile stretches across his face.

Underneath the table, he uncrosses his fingers.

"Okay, I'm in the car, willing to go with you. _Now_ will you answer my questions?"

"Shoot," he replies, pulling out on to the main road.

"You work for Carbine?"

"Yes."

"And they sent you to find me?"  
"Yes."

"How did you find me?"

"I can't take all the credit," he answers. "Lowery was involved too."

"Right."

"Carbine've been snapping us – and I mean Jurassic World employees – up to finish their project. Barry, Lowery, Vivian, me…pretty much anyone mad enough to agree really."

"Lowery works for a security firm, has access to records to some degree, I thought that he'd be the one to track you. Sure enough, your name popped up in Connecticut. "

"Wait," she places a hand on the dash as Owen rounds a corner a little too quickly. "You know about that?"

"You pulling a knife on the mailman? Yeah," he slyly grins at her. "Pretty badass if you ask me."

She smacks him on the arm.

"Ow. Anyway, so Lowery managed to find out where you lived in this…charming spot in the middle of absolutely nowhere…and I drove here."

"And the camping gear?"

"Err…" he rubs the back of his neck. "When I was looking for you, I camped."

"Looks like you got packed in a hurry," she notes the poles still threaded in the tent like broken limbs.

"Yeah, well…"

 _That's when I got the call._

"I did think that you looked a bit…" she begins, taking in his thick beard and healed scars on his face.

"Handsome? Gorgeous? Sexy?"

"Rugged, I was thinking. And in need of a shower."

"Ouch. You really know how to charm a man, don't you?"

"So how did they 'snap you up'?"

"I had conditions."

"Which were?"

"The surviving animals were not to be harmed but cared for…and I would be the one to find you when it came down to it."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four.**

"There's something that I need to tell you before it comes out and I can't fully explain."

"Riiight," Claire draws it out; a sick feeling forms in her stomach

"I've been speaking to Karen."

"You called my sister?"

"I thought that she'd know where you'd gone," he picks at the dirt under his fingernails. "Plus you'd dropped off the grid so I called in on her and the boys first."

Claire opens the window, letting the morning air wash over her before replying: "how…how are they?"

"They're good, Zach's doing well in college and Gray's a high school genius. She knows that I found you. She keeps asking me how you are...every phone call."

"What do you tell her?"

"The truth. You were fine, enjoying the solitude etcetera etcetera."

"Does she know where I am?"  
"She asks every time we speak," he replies. "I haven't told her; it's not up to me."

She breathes a sigh of relief.

"Thank you. After the incident, I couldn't bear to face her again."

"She's not angry Claire," he adds. "Her sons are fine, living pretty normal lives-"

"Pretty normal?"

"Well Gray has become a little obsessed with dinos and tells his friends about the incident constantly but Gray is Gray," Owen shrugs.

"Good, they deserve a chance to be happy."

"Imagine their faces when they see their Aunt Claire again," he winds down his own window.

"Owen, please don't. I…"

He looks across to her, noticing her whitening knuckles, her dilated pupils.

He slows the truck down.

"I know," he nods, hoping to assure her. "Nothing's ever going to be normal for them…or for us. But we just have to carry on."

"How?"

 _Together_ is on the tip of his tongue, but he chooses to shrug instead.

"Not a clue," he finally answers. "But it can be done. Those nephews of yours are doing pretty well. If they can, I'm sure that we can get through it."

"It…still affects you too?"

Sheepishly, he nods.

"I'm not going to deny it, it's made its mark. But I try not to dwell on it too much; whenever it gets to me, I do something else to take my mind off of it."

"Like what?"

"Read, go hiking, hit the tequila," he lists, turning left on to a dusty road.

"And that just solves it?"

"Not entirely, but it helps."

 _Mostly the tequila,_ he considers.

"I can't do that," she admits. "Every time I think about it…"

"Not yet, maybe," he gently smiles at her. "We _can_ fix this. It's going to be hard, and it's going to make you feel really shitty. But, if you'll let me, I'll help you with every step."

She plays with the zip on her bag.

"What's step one?" she finally asks.

"Call Karen."

The zipping noise stops.

"Mend bridges, Claire. She loves you, you know that."

"I almost killed her children."

"You did," he agrees. "But you also put your life – and mine – on the line to save them. Give yourself some credit, for God's sake, they're alive because of you. There's a satellite phone in the glove compartment. Her number's saved in it. Call her."

The small door rattles open, a yellow and black brick sits amongst the chocolate bar wrappers and dishevelled map.

She takes it out.

"Go on," he urges her when she stares at the phone.

Claire gingerly presses the ten numbers on the pad and holds the phone to her ear.

 _What do I say to her?_

For a few moments, there is an uncomfortable silence.

"Hello?"

Claire's throat goes dry…

 _Breathe_.

"Owen, I know it's you. Is everything alright?"

"Karen…it's me."

 _Thunk!_

"Claire, is that really you?" her sister asks after a few seconds of scrambling on the floor.

"Yes, it's really me," she rubs her eye.

"I called and called and called you for months," Karen sobs. "What the hell?"

"I'm sorry it's just…everything," she generalises.

"Still, you had no right to just leave me and the kids in the dark like that!"

"I know, I know."

"I can't believe it's you," she can almost hear her sister smiling on the other end of the line. "How've you been?"

"Fine," she lies. "Just…surviving."

"Where are you?"

"I don't know…Owen's taking me to a safe house somewhere. He keeps mentioning some mission to bring down InGen," she replies.

"I know, he – at least – kept in touch."

"Okay, I get it, I'm a bad person. How're Zach and Gray?"

"They're good," Karen answers. "They keep me busy."

"And you and-"

"We're still speaking," Karen cuts in. "For the boys y'know, but it's over."

"Oh god…I should've been there," Claire wipes the tears from her cheeks.

"It's okay…I'm okay but I want to see you, in person. You're coming back right?"

"Yes," Claire firmly responds.

She squeals. Claire moves the phone away.

"I can't wait to see you, neither can the boys. I swear ever since the park, they've been adamant that they want to see you again."

"I'll try to get there soon," she nods, more to affirm herself than anyone else.

"Please Claire, we've really missed you," Karen begins to sob again.

"Hey, I promise that I'll make it up there soon. I'll have to ask him."

"Can I speak to him? There're some things that I need to clear up with him."

"Sure errm…" she hands over the phone.

"Hey…mmm-hmm. Really…So you're there…All good? Mmm-hm… Yep. No problem. See you soon."

He presses the red button and quickly dials another number.

"Lowery…we're on our way to you… Yes," he lowers his tone. "Please don't call her that…" he whispers. "You know why."

He shakes his head.

"What? We've got a confirmation? Already? Wow…errm that's great. We'll be there within the hour."

"What's going on?"

"Carbine've been gathering evidence against InGen for years and they've just had the breakthrough."

"So they know where Wu is?"

"It's getting there. They've only just managed to find a palaeontologist who's been off the radar at a dig site in Asia. Billy Brennan, he was on the other island, Isla Sorna."  
"What's he got to do with it?"

"A number of people have been stranded on that island. Carbine have been tracking them down, getting them to give statements on what happened there."

"What's that got to do with it?"

"We – well, the historians Carbine hired – have been going through everything, files, notes, records of meetings in order to find out where they've been hiding. Isla Sorna popped up more than once."

"So why doesn't Carbine just go there and draw them out?"

"They want to know what's exactly on that island. We can't send drones…like Hoskins said, they can be hacked," he grimaces. "We want as much intel as possible before stepping foot on it."

"So where so I come in?"

"You have security clearance. Some of the best hackers have been brought in…but they've not even scratched the firewall that protects the most important files. The original copy of our redacted friend may be there too."

"And no one else could do it?"

"You ran the park, no one else qualified for it."

"Did they send you…to y'know…stalk me?"

"I didn't stalk you. I just followed you…to keep you safe...without you knowing."

"That's the definition of stalking," she sighs. "Did they send you?"

"They wanted you, but they didn't know where to find you. They said that you'd be a great-"

 _Crap!_

Her eyes divert from the road in front of them.

"I'm an asset to them, aren't I?"

His lips turn white.

"Wow, thanks for the reassurance."

"Look I-"

"Owen…take me back. This was a huge mistake, just turn the car around."

"I can't."

"What?"

"I can't. You need to do this. You _have_ to do this for yourself, not for anyone else. What are you going to do? Go back to scrap booking every little detail that happened? Going through every account with a fine toothcomb? That's no life, that's the definition of insanity right there."

"So what? I just blunder in to another giant mess, trusting people who'll just stab us in the back?"

"You really think that that's gonna happen?"

"Yeah, I do."

"Carbine aren't InGen."

"And what makes you think that?"

"They've been on the island since they got the majority of the stock. They managed to capture most of the dinos, nursed them back to health, cared for 'em, spent millions."

"And that doesn't sound dodgy to you? Masrani did exactly the same and look what happened."

"Why do I feel like I'm losing this fight? I'm trying to help."

"I'm just confused. I thought that you hated big companies."

"I told you, they made me an offer and I thought that it was in my best interests to agree. I told you, the animals were to be cared for."  
"And you'd be the one to find me?"

"Exactly. No money, no bribes. Just those."

"You do know that they're probably manipulating you? They'll have a file on you, most likely, and know exactly which buttons to push."

"I'm not a fool. I've personally overseen the treatment of the animals, and Barry's there now. They're the good guys in this, I swear."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five.**

 _God dammit Owen,_ he scolds himself. _Why did you go and tell her that?!_

Lowery had begun to use it too. Every time, he'd restrain himself from clocking him over the head for it, but it was continually exchanged in board meetings that he'd been forced to sit through. He'd mindlessly doodle on pads of paper whilst they talked about budgets and all the uninteresting crap.

"And what's to become of Isla Nublar after InGen is shut down?" Lowery had asked.

The CEO had stared at him, and then at Owen.

"What do you suggest Mr Grady?"

"I dunno, Leonard," he'd replied, adding more teeth to his sketch of the Indominus.

"We can't just turn it into housing, _Owen_ ," Cartwright matched his informal tone. "I want to do what's best not just for the company, but for the animals too. I understand that there are millions of dollars' worth of engineering and research on that island, we need to make profit."

"Is that all you care about? Money?"

"Mr Grady," Cartwright sighed exhaustedly. "I am trying to work with you here, and will you please stop graffiting the agenda."

Owen dropped the pen.

"It's too dangerous. The mosasaur's still in her cage, so there's no threat from her. But on the island? The T-rex and Blue are still there. The Dimorphodon and Pteranadon are loose – you know what one of them did that last expedition you put me on," he pointed to his right shoulder. "It'll take much more than a little persuasion in order to get any more people on that island."

"Is that what you suggest? Just abandon it?"

"I honestly don't know, as you can see," he gestured to himself, in his brown jeans and blue shirt. "I'm not a business man."

"That you're not," Leonard agreed. "But you have connections and skills that we could use. I heard that you are close with Ms Dearing."

"I _was_ ," he'd answered.

"I want you to find her, she'd be a fine asset to help bring InGen to their knees."

"You're forgetting one thing. I haven't seen her in four years. She's disappeared into thin air."

"I don't care. If InGen can make dinosaurs, we can find her. Mr Cruthers is a member of one of my security companies, I know that you two have worked closely before. He'll assist you in the search for Ms Dearing."

"And what do I do if she says no?"

"Give her this," he slung a document across the table. A large 'I' and 'G' printed on its blue cover. "I'm not stupid, Mr Grady. You care for her, I saw it all on TV. If you do this, it'll all be over for you and her. But be careful, InGen want this. We've only got one more copy. Do not lose it."

"Carbine never released a statement about taking over Masrani. I never saw it on the news," Claire finally breaks the awkward silence.

"No, it was all on a need to know basis."

"And you're need to know?" she raises an eyebrow.

"Excuse me, I'm a very important man right now."

"Who lived in a tent for a year," Claire adds.

"I live a glamorous lifestyle. It was a tender subject. People from all over the world died _there._ Several authorities wanted to get on Isla Nublar and to place the blame on someone as justice for the loss of so many people. In the end, the CEO thought it best to keep it under wraps and make the island secure before allowing investigators on."

"And that doesn't strike you as odd? They could get rid of evidence and-"

"Nope, not possible. Any data is collected by an independent investigator, Carbine don't even see it."

Claire begins to pick at the hem of her shirt.

"That half redacted document we have is one piece of evidence against InGen. If this's all going to end, we need more."

"So to outsiders, they look like the morally right company," Claire says. "Simon built the park to show humanity how small we really are. In some ways, he was moral; he wanted to make sure the animals were looked after, that they were happy. But he wanted the Indominus, he wanted… _more teeth_. The higher he climbed, the more he stood to lose."

"Yeah," Owen agrees. "I don't know if I'm just being naïve, but I hope they're as upstanding as they claim."

"Where are we?" she asks flatly, continuing to stare out of the truck.

"We're a few hours out from San Diego and Carbine HQ."

"Okay" is all she replies.

"Claire, I get that you're pissed. They had no right to call you that, but…"

"But what?" she finally tears herself away from the window.

"I don't know," he shrugs, a little lost for words.

Her eyes set on him. He shifts slightly.

"I know that I've dug myself into a pit here…a pretty big one, but they didn't mean it the way it sounded. And I'm the last person to go defending bigshot corporations that backstab people to get money," he slowly answers. "What I mean is they're lucky to have you helping them. And the CEO said that it'll all be over for us when InGen are and I quote 'on their knees'."

"And then what?"

Her mind casts back to the files, the stacks of paper, the rows of autobiographies…things cannot be simply forgotten, erased…

"Remember what I told you when we got off that island?"

"That we should probably stick together? For survival?"

"Yeah…I intend to do that."

"Well," Owen begins, looking up at the skyscraper in front of him. "What d'you think?"

"Modest," Claire answers, spying the black and white 'C' three or four storeys tall. "How did they make their millions?"

"They manufactured eco-friendly energy machinery until they managed to buy land and produce energy of their own, I think they once consulted with Simon, maybe that's why they got the go-ahead to take over the corporation."

"Yeah, and deep pockets," Claire mutters. "So, no military ties?"

"Apart from that security firm that Lowery's in, they've no connections like that…as far as I'm aware.

Come on, Lowery's probably informed Cartwright, and he'll want to see us."

"I really hope you're right about him."

"I do too. Shall we?"

He offers her his arm.

She walks past him. He strides to catch up with her.

"Hey Erik," Owen smiles at the security guard standing in front of the automatic doors.

"Owen," the man's eyes widen. "Long time no see. Who's this?"

"This is…Rachel," he answers for her. "I haven't been summoned, have I?"

"Not that I know," Erik replies. "Want me to check?"

"It's cool, we'll just head up," Owen responds.

"Okay, well it's nice to see you."

"Good to see you too."

The lobby blinds them as they walk in. White walls, white tiles, white everything. People sit in the white chairs at the front, half hidden by their newspapers.

"Jesus," Claire mutters under her breath, fighting the urge to block out the light with her hand.

"I know, right. For the first few weeks, I had to wear sunglasses just to get in here," he offers her a pair from his pocket before shoving them back in.

He gently takes her arm and leads her to one of the elevators.

"Can I ask a question?" Owen finally breaks the silence, drowning out the awful music playing.

"Why not?"

"Why did you call yourself Rachel? Back in that little town of yours, people called you that; it made it harder for me to finally track you down…well, that and your hair."

"That's why I did it," she replies. "In my own home, I was…me…but out there, where people could ask me questions about what really happened. It raised fewer questions if I wasn't Claire Dearing."

"Where did you get the name from?" he steps away from her and tilts his head sideways. "You don't look like a 'Rachel'."

"It sounded plausible to me," she shrugs.

The doors _ping_ open.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six.**

"Mr Cartwright will see you now," the secretary smiles briefly at them before opening the door into a lavish office.

Cartwright sits close to the window overlooking the city, two fine leather seats on the opposite side of his desk. Wordlessly, he coaxes them to him. Slowly, they stroll down to the seats, biding their time by taking note of the black and white photos on the walls. A wind turbine; a dam; two builders working on the skyscraper they're standing in.

"I feel like I'm in the principal's office," Owen tells her under his breath.

"Mr Grady," Cartwright grins. "The triumphant hero returns. Ms Dearing, it is a pleasure to finally meet you in person. Please sit, can I get you a drink at all?"

"We're good," Owen answers, letting Claire take a seat first.

"Lowery told me that you'd been in touch," the CEO tells them, shuffling closer in his seat.

"InGen were on our tail," he briefly explains. "Things are about to get interesting."

"I see," Cartwright nods, before turning to Claire. "I'm glad that you've agreed to help us, Ms Dearing. I take it that Owen has explained to you what we intend to do."

"No," Claire replies shortly. "He was going to…but never got the opportunity."

"Oh," he replies. "The thing is Ms Dearing-"

"Please, call me Claire."

"Well, the thing is Claire; Masrani Global is one hell of a company to destroy because of what happened on Isla Nublar. It's tricky to deal with something like this, as many people want the truth, the whole truth etcetera etcetera, which is where we come in. Although funding was provided by Masrani Global, InGen are solely to blame for the incident at Jurassic World by not disclosing the full DNA sequencing of the Indominus. You had no knowledge of this, did you?"

Claire shakes her head.

"Good, or that would make things a lot more complicated. The fact is that Masrani have done a lot of good in this world, and by taking them away, we revert to less moral companies to take their place. Jurassic World could never be salvaged, and we don't intend to do that. But with your help, I want to use that island for the greater good. The dinosaurs are undergoing containment as we speak and given large habitats to live out their days in peace. But there are files, pieces of data that we want access to that only you can open."

"There were other managers at the park, surely any of those could open them for you."

"They all declined, but I had a feeling that, with Mr Grady's help, you could retrieve it for us."

She glances at Owen. He shrugs a _what else could I do_ in reply.

"What do you want to use it for? And what about this 'greater good'? How do I know that you won't sell it to InGen?"

Owen leans back, pinching his lips together. Cartwright nods.

"I give you my word that that won't happen. InGen are scum," he calmly answers. "The files will be used against InGen with the sole purpose of stopping their operations. We've been looking for Wu and his associates for just over four years now. There've even been reports of one of his 'inventions' becoming active somewhere. If he's selling these things to military contractors, we need to know."

"But you're just an energy company," Claire states. "Why do you have a reason to stop them?"

"We make energy yes, but Simon was a good friend of mine. He got sucked into Jurassic World and it killed him. I doubt that it was ever about the money-"

"He wanted to show how little humans were; how little we knew."

"He was a moral man at heart, and I like to think of myself as someone who shares a similar ideology. The fact is that the people at the top are going to profit from war, not caring about the men who are fighting and focusing more on how to win. If whatever Wu cooks up is the answer, they'll pay top dollar for it. This company was built on the foundation to help humanity solve their problems peacefully, and if that means taking down InGen, then that's what we'll do."

"Well, that was one hell of a speech," Claire finally allows herself to breathe when they pass the secretary.

"I'm not surprised," he smiles back at her. "You really went for him in there."

"I want to see what he'd do," she nonchalantly replies. "He's seems like a decent guy…but I still trust him about as far as I could throw him."

"I dunno, with you in a temper he could go pretty far…ow!"

He clutches his shoulder.

"Right, so now we've had a meeting with your boss, what's next?"

"Okay, first of all, Cartwright is not my boss," he looks down at his sweat stained shirt. "And second, I wouldn't mind heading back to mine to clean up."

Wearily, Claire nods.

"Do you know how long it's been since I've had a hot shower?" Owen shouts over the noise of the water.

"No, and I don't really want to know, thanks," Claire replies, looking a line of photos on a wall. Most of them show Owen with a couple of his friends, people she doesn't recall. She pauses on one of him sitting with Zach and Gray. A faint banner in the background states 'Happy 12th Birthday!'. The birthday boy laughs along with his brother to – she presumes – something Owen has said. Karen stands to the far left of the photo, talking to some other parents.

"That was a good day," Owen appears behind her, wearing nothing but a towel secured round his waist.

"Jeez," Claire breathes. "Don't do that again."

"Do what?" he teases, taking a step closer.

Only now does she see the scars; a long white one trails from his shoulder to his side, another disappears around the opposite side. With his beard now trimmed back to its usual length,another scar appears having been carved onto his cheek.

"What happened to you?" she traces the scar through his stubble.

"It's a long story," he grins like a five year old.

She lightly slaps his cheek.

"Ow," his grin widens. "So, what do you want to do?"

"Do you mind if I take a shower?"

"Knock yourself out," he replies. "But not literally."

"Oh ha ha," she answers flatly, before disappearing into his ensuite.

Owen smiles to himself, quickly dressing in a baggy t shirt and a pair of loose fitting jeans. He runs his hand along the dining table, lining his fingers with a layer of thick dust. A year left on its own and the place doesn't look too shabby. He reaches for the fridge handle, but pauses.

 _Might be something alive in there,_ he considers, and holds back.

Caution gets the better of him, and he returns to find Claire looking an old photo.

It'd been Gray's idea to invite him. As soon as that door had flung open, he'd asked about his aunt.

"Sorry Gray," he'd answered. "No news yet."

Gray's face had fallen.

"But I'll keep trying, I promise."

A weight seemed to lift off his shoulders; Uncle Owen - as he's now referred to – has kept his promise.

"You seem happy," Claire comments as she enters the room, rubbing a towel though her damp hair.

"Yeah, just glad to be back home," he replies.

"How many others?" she asks. "How many other people have been brought in by Cartwright to deal with this?"

"You, me and Lowery will be on this boat, with Barry joining us when we arrive."

"He's already there?"

"He's been there for over a year, taking care of Blue whilst I was looking for you."

"How is…Blue?"

"Resentful, but happy as can be last I heard."

"Seems that Carbine has got everything under control."

"The first year was basically planning; blueprints were made and triple checked before any major work was done. Year two had us on the island, tracking Blue, the T Rex and all the birds from the Aviary."

Claire shifts in her seat.

"Whilst they were occupied, Paddock Nine and the raptor enclosure underwent construction, and then the main paddocks after that. All the animals are now contained."

"So the park is pretty much a park again?"

"A park without the visitors."

"Why wasn't this broadcast in the news?"

"Carbine never wanted InGen to figure out what was going on, so they covered it all up with various deals to create more eco-friendly energy farms, diverting attention away from the island."

Claire nods along, processing each piece of information.

"The Costa Ricans have been very patient, I'll give 'em that. They've also done deals to allow our authorities onto the island once it is deemed 100% safe."

"That place'll never be entirely safe," Claire finally answers.

"It will be; it ran for years without a major incident, right? Hopefully people won't push nature too far this time and bite off more than they can chew."

"People won't learn though," Claire sighs. "Jurassic Park; San Diego; Site B; Jurassic World – they all pushed too hard and look at what happened. Carbine could be walking into a trap for all we know."

"Well," he leans back into the cushions. "At least this time, we'll be prepared."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven.**

"When you said that you were prepared," Claire scans the rows of containers on the deck. "I didn't think that Carbine would be sending in a whole damn army!"

"This's only food for the locals," Owen replies, leaning against the rail. He turns his back on the metal bars and faces her. "You okay? You look a little pale."

"Yeah," Claire nods. "Just a bit sea sick…and jetlagged to hell."

"It's been a tough few days," he agrees. "But it'll be over soon."

"I really hope so," she adds.

She pulls the sleeves on Owen's oversized hoody down, hiding the goosebumps on her arms.

"Can you do me a favour?" He asks.

"Depends," she raises an eyebrow at him.

"If things ever get too much for you at any point, you'll let me know."

She picks at a loos thread on the jacket sleeve.

"Claire, please. It's all I'm asking," he shuffles a little closer. "'Cause if something does happen, I'll be right there for you…with a bottle of tequila and two shot glasses."

"Well," a familiar voice calls out from behind them. "This seems to be amiable weather for today of all days."

"It's nice to see you too Lowery," Owen smiles at him.

"Claire," Lowery adds. "It's great to finally see you again."

He wraps his arms around her, almost crushing her. Tentatively, she returns the favour.

"It's been too long," she finally answers.

"Don't worry about Karen and the kids; they're taking a well-earned vacation, somewhere where InGen can't touch 'em," he winks, taking a step back.

Claire raises an eyebrow.

"See, now you've said that, I'm worried."

"What Lowery means is that Carbine has relocated Karen, Gray and Zach until the heat dies down."

"Where? Where are they?"

She looks to Owen and then to Lowery.

Lowery's eyes focus on his feet.

"Errm," Owen scratches the back of his neck. "They're on Isla Nublar."

"I can't believe this," she pushes past both of them and heads down to the forest of containers on the cargo deck.

"You didn't tell her?"

"You idiot Lowery!"

"Ow!" Lowery clutches his shoulder. "Look, she was likely to find out eventually."

"Claire," Owen calls after her, taking the steps two at a time to catch up. "I know, I should've told you."

The deck below is empty, except from a couple of men wearing hi-visibility jackets.

"Claire!"

Slowly, he makes his way down the middle, looking left and right down each corridor. His phone buzzes in his pocket. Cartwright.

"Leonard, this isn't a great time…oh for the love of… No, I don't want to pressure her into any more… he can stick his interviews where the sun don't shine! Surely we at least have a day to adjust before he fries our brains?...Fine, but if anything happens, it's your fault."

Her head thumps as if someone is in there with a drum kit.

 _Why? Why didn't they say anything?_

She grips the rusting rail so tightly that her knuckles turn white.

 _I trusted him…over and over again…why?_

The rock of the boat only makes things worse, bringing bile to the back of her throat.

"There you are."

"Go away Owen, I'm not in the mood for this."

"Look, I'm sorry; there was little time to explain every little detail."

"There was the ride to the airport, the whole plane journey, in the cab to the dock," she lists. "You had plenty of time to tell me this _small frickin' detail!_ "

"Point taken," he replies, slowly taking a few steps towards her.

"How long have they been on the island?"

"They were there when you called her yesterday," he answers. "With the island in the state that it is, there's no need to worry."

"Don't you dare say that," she spits back, finally managing to face him. "You said that it's still not 100% safe; they almost died there and now you've got my sister along for the ride too?"

"Cartwright offered them accommodation to keep them safe," Owen replies. "They had the option not to take it."

"Yeah, I'm sure that Karen had much choice if Gray had any say in it."

"The point is that they're safe," he sighs. "You're pissed and I get that-"

"You're damn right I'm pissed with you," she interrupts. "What's this? The third time that you've kept something from me? I'm getting tired of your shit, to be honest. Back then, when we were being hunted by dinosaurs, I would've followed you to the world's end. But we're not in that situation anymore. You need to tell me what the hell is going on!"

Owen snorts, "what? Like when you just disappeared that night?"

"You think I planned that?"

"Let's see, I don't recall finding a note, having a brief conversation, any clues as to where you went," he lists each point on his fingers. "So what? Now you want to really consult?"

"Oh grow up," she snaps.

"I have, Claire," he answers, pacing up and down. "Those six years have taught me somethin'. Don't wait around for someone who obviously doesn't give two shits about you."

He turns his back on her and walks away.

"I _do_ care about you, Owen," Claire's voice is barely above a whisper.

He stops dead in his tracks.

"Well you've got a funny way of showing it."

"I left because everywhere I turned, people wanted answers…and for a long time, I didn't know how to answer them."

"And you couldn't just tell me?"

"We're both just being hypocrites," she sighs, looking out at the vast ocean before them. "We've kept stuff from each other, now we're arguing about it… You really think that I don't care about you?"

"You disappeared, Claire," he appears by her side. "For six years. What did you expect me to think?"

Slowly, she releases her grip on the rail and covers his hand with hers.

"Well, for the record," she starts. "I hated leaving you…I just thought it'd be easier for you if I did just vanish."

"Easier?" he sandwiches her hand with his. "It was hell. You know how many times I had to scare racoons away from my food where I camped?"

Claire's lips curve upwards.

"Yeah, a year in a tent. Not many people can say they did that for a girl," he laughs lightly, bumping her with his shoulder.

A dark shape begins to peep over the horizon, half hidden by thick clouds.

"Err…Claire, could you remove your nails from my skin please?"

"Sorry," she apologises and tries to pull her hand away.

"Not yet," he presses down to keep her there. "I kinda like it."

The various machines _whirr_ as the boat pulls into the dock; flagpoles hold faded blue banners aloft along the pier. Close to the archway, several cars await.

"I feel like we're on the _Titanic_ ," Owen smiles, waving to the group of onlookers.

"If you ever sing one note of that song, I will find Blue and order her to stop you," Claire answers through gritted teeth.

Owen grins at her.

"Barry!" he calls out as they descend the ramp to the walkway. "How's my girl?"

"Thanks," Barry pauses, his arms stretched open. "Considerate, Owen. No 'Hi Barry, how are you'?"

"I apologise. How are you…and how's Blue?"

"She's good," he wraps his arms around his friend briefly, clapping him loudly on the back.

Barry's eyes fall on Owen's companion.

"Claire?"

"Hi Barry," she replies. "I hear that you've been stuck over here for a year now."

"Yeah," he answers. "It's good to see you."

"Claire!"

A sudden stampede from the top of the pier tumbles into Claire, almost knocking her off her feet. All she can see is a mixture of blonde, dark and mousey brown hair. Not too far away Owen laughs as she stands motionless.

"I can't believe it," Karen repeats, over and over again.

"Hi," she replies, her voice muffled.

Owen lets out an exaggerated sigh, "don't I get a welcome…or an acknowledgment?"

Finally, after what seems hours, they finally let go and harass Owen.

 _They've grown…_

Zach towers over his 'uncle', whereas Gray stands almost eye to eye.

"You boys get taller every time I see you," Owen smiles at them. "You enjoying yourselves?"

"It's awesome," Gray beams. "We got to feed the T Rex yesterday and Blue this morning!"

"Yeah? She behave for you?"

Gray nods enthusiastically.

"Zach?"

"Yeah," he shrugs. "They let me in the control room, tryna get me to help 'em crack codes and fix stuff."

"Sorry to interrupt the reunion, but I was told to take you to the control centre," Barry interrupts. "They're anxious to get you and Claire up there asap to open restricted files and stuff. Plus…there's this new guy; he wants to speak with you."

Owen turns to face Claire, noticing her pale complexion.

"You ready?" he asks.

She slowly nods, her wide eyes fixed on the archway at the end on the pier.

"Hey," he smiles, gently touching her shoulder. "C'mon, let's get going before the weather turns."

Her gaze floats upwards to the darkening sky; she nods slightly.

"We'll catch up with you guys later," Owen smiles to Claire's family.

Karen replies with a nod and coaxes her sons back up the pier to the vehicles.

"Mind if we take a shortcut Barry?"

His colleague bobs his head before following the others up the path.

"Claire," he gently takes her arm in his, securing her hand in his. "Everything'll be okay, I promise."

Some colour returns to her cheeks, but her grip on his hand tightens.

"It's dead and everything is in their cages," he reassures her. "We're safe."

"It's not the dinosaurs that worry me," she hesitantly replies.

"Then what is it?"

She rubs her arm.

"You can trust me, okay? I'm not gonna go round telling people that you're still…cautious about this place."

She takes a deep breath.

"It's everything. People died here and I'm responsible."

"Nothing you could've done would've prevented it."

"Yes there was. We panicked and she escaped."

"Well…this time, let's just keep calm and…"

"Carry on?" she interjects.

"I was gonna say take one step at a time, but yours sounds more catchy," he smiles and gently squeezes her hand. "Are you ready?"

"As I'll ever be," she replies.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

The sky in the distance darkens, clotted with heavy clouds.

"Why do I have a bad feeling about this?" Barry asks, turning on the wipers as rain begins to pelt down.

"Cause every time somethin' bad is gonna happen, it rains?" Owen answers, before turning to Claire beside him. "I'm kidding."

"Yeah," she sighs. "Are all the paddocks prepared for weather like this?"

"Yeah, they had the best structural engineers in the world here, plus their independent eco-friendly people to build the exhibits, reinforcing them to make sure that not even a Spinosaurus could crash through it. The T-Rex and raptor enclosures were the only ones that hadn't be destroyed, so Blue and the T-Rex were easily lured back within weeks of us getting here. The herbivores were just herded round until the fences were completely fixed."

"It sounds so simple," Claire answers.

"It kinda was…in a way," Barry replies, pulling in close to the entrance to the enclosure. "No time limit, no real dangers and no casualties – only a broken arm for a construction worker."

"And no escapees I hope," Owen adds.

"Not one," Barry shoves on a bright yellow coat. "C'mon then, if you want to see your girl."

"Do you want to come with us?" Owen turns to his companion.

"Yeah," she answers, pulling up the hood of Owen's borrowed jacket.

They are saturated in seconds of getting out of the car. Barry is easily visible in his luminous jacket on the walkway above the paddock where they often observed the inhabitants.

"Be careful," Owen warns. "These can get really slippy in the rain."

He lets her go in front and watches her like a hawk as they climb the grated steps to the metal track circling the top of the fence.

"Hey," Barry calls, and then whistles. "C'mon girl, I have someone to see you."

The foliage in the main paddock area is so dense that they can hardly see the muddy ground. Owen places his thumb and forefinger at the corners of his mouth before whistling loudly. Slowly, the leaves begin to twitch as she walks closer. Another form pushes past the dense ferns, slowly appearing behind her sister.

" _Krrrk?"_ Blue clicks as she emerges from the brush.

Delta mimics her.

Their yellow eyes fix on them.

"H-hey girls," Owen answers.

Blue's tail swerves side to side. He leans over the barrier. Delta limps in a circle, snapping her scarred snout.

"How've they been doing since I last saw them?"

"Good," Barry answers, joining him on the rail. "Eatin' well, sleeping normally and fighting fit."

Claire leans over the rail, mouth agape.

"You never told me Delta'd made it out."

"It was touch and go for a while. A raptor in captivity with a shattered hip wasn't the ideal situation, but she bounced back."

"And the other carnivores?"

"The T-Rex is the same but Carbine…they put down the Mosasaur," Barry says.

"What? Why the hell did they do that?" Owen's brow furrows, his hands clamp on the rail.

"They said that she was too 'high risk'. It was dangerous to send divers to assess the integrity of the paddock, and at the risk of her escaping, they thought it best to-"

"Kill her?" Claire interjects. "Her enclosure was the only one left standing after the incident. She posed no threat to anyone."

"She reached the boardwalk and killed the Indominus, if she could do that then she'd put every employee at risk. I didn't like it as much as you do now but the fact is that it happened and the poor thing was humanely euthanized."

"And they never thought to just build a wall or something?" Owen releases his grip on the rail but his eyes remained focused on the raptors below them. "The same could've happened to any dinosaur in the park, why was she expendable?"

"I assume that, as a sea creature, there was no real way to contain her and keep her from breaking through the exhibit."

"How did they find all this out? The Mosasaur attacking the Indominus, that was never made public," Claire asks.

"There's some English guy hanging around in Control. Gary, Gary…Root, he's been interviewing everyone to try and get to the bottom of what exactly happened. He said to me that 'CCTV ain't enough, I want to know the real story'."

"What is he? A detective? Reporter?"

"I guess he's the independent man," Barry picks at a scab on his arm. "I assume that you know they want to take the heat off the whole incident, Claire?"

"Yeah, Owen said," she replies. "But no official introduction has been made as to who he is?"

"Nothing," Barry replies. "I hate to tell you but we're off to see him now. He was eager to finally get statements from you two in order to clear up this mess and pin it all on InGen."

 _But it wasn't all InGen,_ Claire tells herself – if she said it aloud, they'd just try to convince her that is was.

"In fact," Barry adds, checking his watch. "We're running pretty late; we'd better get going before the weather gets any worse."

The black sky flashes and groans as Barry takes the car up the main boardwalk.

"This was the first part to get cleared when Carbine moved on-site," Barry explains. "Many of the buildings have been converted into accommodation and storage for construction."

The once busy shops and restaurants sit as bland sandstone buildings, with window boxes sitting underneath plain white shutters. The barbeque place that had sold many of Claire's late night meals sits untouched, still blackened from the explosion that took the life of Owen's raptor. Ahead, the pyramid like structure of the Innovation Centre remains the centrepiece of Main Street. The branded sign that hung above the door has been replaced by a large black and white 'C' of Carbine Industries.

"I guess they'll be waiting for you in the control room," Barry adds, parking at the end of the road. "I've gotta go but good luck."

"Thanks," Owen and Claire answer in almost unison.

"So what's the plan?" he asks her over the beating of rain.

She shrugs, and pulls the hood up.

"I mean are we gonna tell him the truth or not?" he replies, moving the hood back a little to see her face.

"I guess," she shrugs again.

"It's your choice," he smiles. "Personally, I think it'd be best to tell him everything and let him see that InGen were responsible."

She bobs her head.

"Are you sure? There isn't gonna be any going back once we've made our statements."

"I know," she replies, before taking a deep breath. "Let's just do it."

"Well, I didn't expect this," Owen snorts, surveying the white walls and cubicles that fill the room. "It looks like…"

"An office," Claire finishes for him.

Together, they stroll down an aisle, peering into each bland brown box containing a pine desk and grey office chair.

"There has to be one with a 'hang in there kitty' poster," Owen jogs to the end, finding no remnants of the battle that took place the last time he was there.

He leans closer to a water cooler sitting at the end of the row.

"That'd be on my office," a voice echoes overhead.

"Hello?" Claire calls out.

"Well," a figure appears at the railing overlooking the floor. "I'm glad that you've come to join us Ms Dearing."

Owen coughs, and waves up to the suave Englishman above them.

"And Mr Grady too? Cartwright kept his word," he smiles. "Please," he motions to the spiral staircase, "we have much to discuss."

"You must be Gary Root," Owen greets the man, offering his hand.

"I am he," he smiles. "It's great to finally have you two back on the island to help clear this mess up."

"What have you been told so far?" Claire asks.

"Ah, I'm not allowed to discuss that, Ms Dearing," Root replies. "But I am looking forward to hearing your recollections of the incident. I would've contacted you personally but you… err did a very good job of falling off the radar."

 _That was the intention; I wanted to avoid people like you._

"Shall we?" he asks, before heading to the elevator. "The purpose of this is to finally put to rest what happened six years ago. Cartwright wants to get people on the island, but that isn't going to happen any time soon. That's where I come in; I'm the middle man," he adjusts his tie around his neck and undoes his top button. "I am here to relay information to the investigators back on the mainland."

The doors _ping_ open.

"I know what you're thinking," Root continues. "' _How can we trust this guy?_ 'Well, you can. As soon as I get your statements, I'm off this island and out of your hair."

He leads them down a narrow corridor and into a small office. Owen snorts a laugh when he sees the poster on the wall.

"I told you," Root smiles at the raptor trainer. "Please, take a seat, I just need to get a few things."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

 _Breathe…just take your time._

The tape recorder hums to the left of them. Root loudly slurps a cup of tea.

"So, who would like to start?" the Englishman asks, grazing his hand against his stubble.

Owen glances over to Claire.

"The first I knew about this was when Claire asked me to consult with workers on the structure of the Indominus Rex enclosure. When we got there, it'd seemingly vanished and I was sent in to see how it escaped."

"I…" Claire begins, before she clears her throat. "I called Lowery to get a location on her tracker, and I sent Owen in. When Lowery found her, I was on my way to the control room…she was still in the cage."

"We got a call through telling us that she was still there. The gate was opened and we got out…as did the Indominus."

Root nods, scribbling something down on the pad of paper in front of him.

"ACU were called to get her but she clawed out her tracker…she lured them into an ambush."

"Who's decision was this?" Root looks up from the pad.

"Masrani's," they answer in perfect unison.

"And we closed off the whole area so no visitors would…get hurt…" Claire continues.

"Claire's nephews were MIA," Owen adds. "Claire commandeered me-"

"I asked you," she interjects.

"If I remember correctly," he turns to her, "you said that you 'needed me' to help bring your nephew back in. Like I had a choice when you said that Zach and Gray were in the valley."

"Fine," she sighs. "I _commandeered_ him to bring them back safely."

"Thank you," his lips pull upwards. "We didn't find the boys but found _her_. Masrani must've taken it upon himself to take a 'copter up to take out the Indominus. We were close to the aviary when the Dimorphadons and Pteranadons escaped through the hole the helicopter left in its roof."

"This is what happened to Mr Masrani?"

"Yeah," Owen confirms. "We got back to the park and tried to get people in doors. By that time, Vic Hoskins had taken over and tried to use the raptors to hunt the Indominus."

"And you gave your permission for the velociraptors to be used as a means of destroying the creature?"

"Yes," Owen slowly replies. "I didn't want to, but people were dying. It was a last resort I guess. I wasn't told that the Indominus was part raptor until she became their new alpha."

"The velociraptors turned on you?"

"Yeah, they did," he rubs the back of his neck. "We managed to get back here and found Hoskins and Wu's minions clearing the place out. Taking embryos and information and stuff like that."

"What happened to Hoskins?"

"Delta," Owen replies.

"Right."

"Thankfully, I was able to get my girls back and set them on the Indominus. It was Claire that brought the T-rex to the party."

Root glances across at Claire.

"Gray said that we needed 'more teeth'," she shrugs.

"That was…brave of you."

"Yeah, she out ran the old girl…in heels," Owen smiles to himself.

"Really?" Root sceptically answers, raising an eyebrow.

"Anyway, I assume that you know the rest. They fought and the mosasaur killed the Indominus."

"I was told, but I needed to clarify it all."

"And that's it," Claire adds. "That's everything that happened."

"Is that everything that you need to know?" Owen puts in.

"No, I have a few more questions for you," he closes the pad and places his pen on the desk top. "Starting with InGen, I am right in assuming that they were responsible for not releasing the full genetic make-up of the Indominus?"

"I was informed that that was classified, as was Owen."

"And you were never curious about how this…dinosaur came to be?"

"No," she bluntly replies. "They made the monster; I sold it to the investors."

"I did nothin'," Owen holds his hands up in surrender.

"So the Indominus was a means to bring in more crowds?"

"Yes, that was what Masrani wanted," Claire affirms, "more teeth."

"And the velociraptors?"

"No, they weren't part of the park. They were a project… they were part of InGen's research department, I assume they were to be used to see if they could follow commands."

"Right, and that's where you fit in, Mr Grady?"

"I don't like where this is going," Owen answers Root, folding his arms. "You hiding something from us?"

"There have been reports that the Indominus and Raptors were a first attempt," Root briefly explains.

"You think that InGen wanted to use them as weapons?" Claire asks.

"Hoskins did mention something about using them as weapons, I guess that that was the main reason they kept the raptors separate from the park. Why else would you want to train raptors to obey commands? They wanted the brightest dinosaurs to become the new troops on the battlefield."

"Could it be possible that this was the reason the Indominus was made with Velociraptor DNA? The brains of one and the brawn of a T-Rex?" Root interjects.

"It's likely," Owen answers before taking a look at his watch.

"Hey, any chance we could call it a day? We've been travelling all day and I want to call in to see Blue again before it gets dark."

Root nods, "sure," he answers before he presses the 'stop' button on the colossal tape recorder.

"I'm sure this must be shit for you," Root sighs. "But thanks for doing this."

"Is that all you need?" Claire asks, rubbing her temple.

"Yeah, for now," Root grimaces. "I may need to clarify some things with others, but you gave me a lot of information that's gonna be used against InGen."

"But it was my fault."

Owen and Root turn to her.

"Ms Dearing," Root leans over the table forcing her to look at him. "None of what happened is your fault, okay? You don't have to blame yourself for anything; what happened was tragic, but an accident. From what you've told me, you followed protocol and did everything in your power to stop the Indominus. You even put your lives at risk to save others. You're bloody heroes so stop beating yourself up about it."

A sick feeling pools in her stomach. Owen bumps her shoulder.

"C'mon," he says. "Let's get some food before we die of starvation."

Owen dives into his mountain of fries, splattering himself with ketchup; Claire turns one between her fingers.

"You okay?" he asks after finishing a mouthful. "You look like crap."

"Thanks," she sighs.

"I'm sorry but you do. You need to eat."

"I'm not hungry," she drops it back on the plate.

"Fine," he leans back and folds his arms. "Then neither am I."

"Don't…just eat Owen. I'll be fine in the morning; I'm just too tired to eat."

"It isn't going to do you any good skippin' meals," he tells her.

"I know, it's just…"

The pool in her stomach grows, making her limbs feel like lead.

"Just what?" he leans closer. "We aren't gonna forget what happened here but-"

"Please can we not talk about it," she interrupts.

"Tell you what, if you eat some of these," he gestures to the small buffet on the table in front of them, "then I'll get us something to help forget it."

Her eyes narrow.

"Alcohol," he clarifies. "Just alcohol."

"You know both go against my diet," the corners of her mouth twitch upwards.

"To hell with the diet," he smiles. "Just one drink, I swear."

She takes a deep breath.

"Okay," she faintly nods, picking a medium sized fry from the pile.

A pile of lime wedges rest on the table, some drained of juice and dotted with salt grains. An empty glass sits nearby, enclosed in Owen's callused hand.

"Your turrrrrrrn," he pushes it towards her, almost sending it over the edge.

"I said just…just one," Claire swipes for the glass but Owen catches her hand in his.

"Do you still remember?" he asks, his emerald eyes fixing on her.

"Errr…yeah," she bobs her head.

"Then you need another shot," he giggles.

She opens her mouth to protest, but he sloppily pours another, saturating his hand with tequila.

"Remember the salt and lime this time," Owen leans back.

He licks his thumb, presses into the pile of white grains and grabs a wedge with his other hand. He offers her his thumb.

"Mmm-mm," she shakes her head and takes the shot straight.

"Woah," Owen smiles. "That was bad ass."

Claire squeezes her eyes shut.

"I…shouldn't have…done that," she coughs.

"No, even I'm not that insane," he replies. "C'mon, let's get out of here before we get chucked out."

"Yeah," she nods, bolting up.

"Na-ah," Owen appears at her side and wraps his arm around her. "You aren't walking down the board walk alone, you'll do some damage to somethin' or yourself."  
"Thank you," she whispers into his chest.

His lips twitch upwards as he guides her to the door.

"So, your place or mine?"


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten.**

"Mmmmm," Owen groans, pushing cushions off the sofa as he stretches.

Through the nearby window, a light breeze flutters in, tinged with sea salt.

He rubs his eyes, opening them after a moment.

"Eugh," he yawns, holding a palm to his temple.

He couldn't remember how many drinks he'd had last night and he really didn't want to ask. Yet, the sound of waves crashing through the thin walls brings a smile to his face.

 _It's been too long since I woke up to that,_ he tells himself.

Slowly, he rises, the rough spun woollen blanket slides to his feet. Slowly, he creeps to the bedroom door before breathing a sigh of relief. Claire lies sprawled across the bed; hair half covering her face.

"Shit shit shit!" She curses under her breath.

She drags the hair away from her eyes, squinting at the sunlight coming in through the open door.

"Mornin' sunshine," Owen replies, rubbing his arm.

"Don't…just don't," she answers, propping herself up on an elbow.

"Feeling rough?"

"Yeah, no thanks to you."

"Ouch. Hey, you're the one who wanted to forget, I just helped."

"I did, but I wouldn't have drunk so much if I'd known I'd feel as crap as this."

"Let me get you some coffee," he offers. "And something to eat…"

"Mmm," she replies, shielding her eyes against the onslaught from the open blinds.

His lips curve upwards for a split second before he pauses.

"What?" he matches his own gaze with hers.

For a moment, there's no one else in the world.

Clare wrenches her gaze away, deciding that the clock on the wall is more interesting.

Owen clears his throat.

"I'll get you some coffee," he tells her, before disappearing behind the door.

His heart thumps against his ribcage.

 _Pull it together Owen,_ he scolds himself.

The wipers flick left and right furiously in an attempt to clear the windscreen.

"Who knew the weather could be this bad on a tropical island?" Owen quips.

"Yeah."

"You sure you're okay about…y'know…going back and…"

"Yeah."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah."

"What's the capital of France?"

"Yeah."

He glances over to find her picking her nails.

"Claire, this is important. Please will you listen," Owen slowly tells her. "I don't want you to go in there and freak out because of what happened."

"I'm not going to 'freak out' as you put it."

"Shit happened that day and…and I just want to make sure that it's not going to creep up and screw things up for you again."

"They won't," she answers. "It's gonna be difficult but I'm up for it. The faster I open those files, the faster I'm off this island."

"You're really just gonna go back to that house and live out your days away from your family?"

"Don't start Owen," she replies. "I'll keep in touch with them and…with you, but I can't stay here, which I guess is your plan."

"I have to because of Blue and Delta, but-"

"Neither of us have choices," she interjects, watching the rain cascade down the window. "Our lives are pulling in different directions. That's that."

Owen opens his mouth, but clamps it shut. Instead, he pushes down on the accelerator and takes a sharp left to the Innovation Centre.

"Glad you both could make it," Root shakes their hands in turn. "Shall we?"

The investigator enters the elevator last, and presses the button to the control room. The glass box climbs higher until they reach the room. Inside is a hive of activity. Men shout, welders torch pieces of metal together and Lowery sits in his usual spot.

"Hey," he greets the pair casually. "You want 'em to open everything?"

"Please, Mr Cruthers," Root nods.

"So I'm here to push a few buttons and turn a few keys, then that's it?" Claire asks, turning to the Englishman.

"Pretty much," Root responds.

Behind Claire, Owen furiously shakes his head.

"Buuut you may have to stick around in case we come across any more encrypted files," Root adds.

"Thank you," Owen mouths to him.

"Well," Claire sighs. "What do you need first?"

"Over here," Lowery waves her over to the interactive desk.

"What's going on?" Root asks Owen as soon as she's out of earshot.

"Just…some personal things," Owen scrambles for an answer.

"Oh."

"Yeah…" he absently begins to pick at a flap of loose skin beneath his nail. "They might need some help."

Unlike the many times that Claire had stood in the control room, it was only now that she felt completely helpless. She wipes her clammy hands on her jeans, thankful that no one notices. She rolls up the sleeves of Owen's hoody – he hadn't reprimanded her yet for stealing it – and sets to work on the keyboard, her finger striking each key instinctively. Owen's footsteps clomp up behind her.

"How many files are there?"

"Enough to keep me here for hours," she answers, her eyes not wavering from the screen. "I won't be offended if you want to leave and check on your girls."

"Barry's seeing to them," he replies. "I'll go when we're all finished up here."

"We?" She turns to face him. "And what are you gonna be doing?"

"I'm sure I can be of some use," he smiles.

She turns away, rolling her eyes.

"You got this," he adds, before turning away.

Claire pauses, her fingers hovering over the keys…

A white beast…a feature that made _her_ stand out from the rest; a reminder that what she was wasn't natural…she was made, not born.

"That's the Indominus?" Root asks, his breath making her hair stand on end.

"Yeah," she takes a step away from the screen.

"Wow, you never told me that it-"

"Was white?" She interjects, "yeah, I've heard that before."

"It's just when you said dinosaur, I imagined something…brown scales and stuff, not that," he nods to the screen.

"Well…" Claire's knuckles begin to whiten; her right foot taps against the floor.

"Are you okay?"

She nods, but turns on her heels and heads out.

"Claire?" Owen calls after her, but she fixes on her blinkers, and heads out of the room.

"It's dead," she repeats for the eightieth time.

The rain continues to lash down, wave upon wave, completely soaking everything caught out in it.

 _Maybe I could just go somewhere_ , she considers. _Surely it's safe. I just need to get away from this wretched place._

She wraps the faint cologne smelling jacket around her and pulls up the hood for at least some protection from the weather. Her Converses are instantly soaked as she misjudged a puddle.

"Shit!"

She walks past Owen's car, and down towards the boardwalk. The hood droops from the weight of the rain, hiding half of her face.

The old mosasaur exhibit lies ahead of her, the wire - not yet dismantled – lies above the water. A mixture of salt and acid mingles at the back of her throat. Slowly, Claire unclenches her fists. Spots of blood appear on her palms from where the nails had dug in.

Footsteps slap behind her.

"Claire," he begins, slowly approaching her. "Come inside, you're getting soaked."

She wipes her bloody palms on her jeans.

"You'll catch a cold," he tries again.

She uses his jacket sleeve to tub her eyes.

"Claire, please," he places a hand on her shoulder. "Talk to me. Tell me what it is and I can make it go away."

"It's just…got a bit too much for today," the walls slide back into place. "Those files should keep them busy for a while."

"You're okay though? You froze up in there like you'd seen a ghost and I just thought that-"

"I'm fine," she interjects.

Owen removes his hand from her shoulder.

"Really, I am. I needed some fresh air."

He takes a deep breath.

"Right…as much as I enjoy standing in the rain, can we go back inside?"

She bobs her head and pulls the hood back.

 _Vrr! Vrr!_ Owen pulls the phone from his pocket and presses the green button.

"Yeah?...Right we'll be there, just give us five."

"They got something?"

"Yeah, but-"

"Good, let's go back in."

"Claire," he catches her arm as she passes. "We need to talk."

"After," she tries to snatch her arm away.

"No now. You need to tell me what's going on."

"Nothing okay. Nothing is going on."

"So you just walk out into the rain for no apparent reason all the time?"

Her hands clench up.

"It's not funny."

"I know it's not, I was just making a point. I want to help, but you have to tell me. You'll feel better when you let it out."

Bile rises to the back of her throat. Her hands begin to shake uncontrollably.

"I…I don't know how to explain it."

"Okay," he gently pulls her to one of the old storefronts, finding a bench sheltered from the downpour.

"It's like a cycle, it just won't stop."

"What won't?"

"Like a wall, a mental block. Nothing escapes, it just turns over and over in my head and I can't stop it."

"And it started after the incident?"

She nods.

"Sometimes, I wouldn't leave my bed and other times, I didn't want to sleep. It was too much effort. I didn't care. I just wanted to-" she stops and stares at him.

He nods slowly.

"I Googled it. There's no medication for it and I didn't want to talk about it; maybe it's because that would reveal who I was and… Do you ever feel like this?"

"Sometimes," he nods. "But we need to stop this. It's not going to be easy, but together okay. Don't go and run away again. For both of us, don't do that again."

 **A/N:** I've tried my best not to romanticise this story arc as much as possible, especially since I've included mental illness. However, I'm going to treat this as delicately as I can. I would like to put out there that I have been through this (not PTSD but depression) and I, in no way, wish to romanticise a condition that so many people find difficult to talk about, and find hard to act on due to the stigma attached to depression and similar conditions.

If you are reading this and suffering from depression of any kind, please speak to someone. I know that it's hard to find the courage to start, but it _really_ can make a difference, I promise.

Yours, H.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11.**

"Everything alright?" Root asks.

"Yeah, Claire's gone home. Wasn't feeling too good," Owen exits the elevator alone, hands in his pockets. "What've you found?"

"We got statements from some other associates of John Hammond, people who he invited to the opening of the original Park, and we've cross referenced them with the InGen list circa 1993. There seems to be discrepancies."

"Like what? I thought Hammond would've overseen all the scientific stuff."

"He did, but InGen must've abused it and used it for their own gain. It's the only way to explain this, I guess."

"What sort of stuff are we talking about?"

Root waves the raptor trainer over to the screen, pointing to a scanned handwritten letter.

"We interviewed multiple sources; Alan Grant and Ian Malcolm were at the opening of the original Park, and they listed all of the animals that they came into contact with."

Root waves his hand, and another, yellower piece of paper appears.

"There're two lists on each?"

"Yeah, one from here, Isla Nublar, and one from Site B: Isla Sorna."

"I've heard of Site B, but I never thought anyone had been there."

"Nope. Ian Malcolm went there first. Remember that incident in San Diego? That was the cause of it. Then, a few years later, Grant was blackmailed into going there to help a couple find their lost son. But take a look at the lists."

Owen's eyes scan the adjacent lists. His brow furrows.

"They seem to like making raptors, but here…" he points to the scanned letter from an Alan Grant, "this guy says he saw a Spinosuarus but this Malcolm doesn't."

"Little strange, isn't it? We asked others who were on the trips with the Dr's, and they say the same."

"So where did it come from?"

"The only place that it could have come from: a lab."

"So, you're saying that InGen have been manufacturing dinosaurs for years and what? Dumping them on Site B?"

"No, I'm thinking that that's where they've settled. Think about it. No sane person is going to go on a dinosaur infested island to find them, plus they act as guard dogs. It's close so it'd be easy to evacuate in case of an emergency. Overall, a perfect site…if they can handle the inhabitants."

"You seem to have figured this out really quickly."

"In truth, we've had this data for a few weeks, but I was informed by Mr Cartwright that you were tailing her and he wanted all known associates of Jurassic World somewhere where he could keep a close eye on them."

"You jackass!"

He grabs the Root's shirt and effortlessly pins the scrawny man against the wall.

"Why wasn't I told about this?"

"Cartwright wanted you here…he kept his side of the deal," Root squirms, wriggling in his grasp.

"The deal was to keep the animals safe, not manipulate people to come here against their will."

"No, that was your job, not mine. You chose to bring people here, including Ms Dearing. Think of the bigger picture. They can't get to you. You and everyone close to you is safe."

"She _was_ safe, she was anonymous until I was informed to bring her in."

"As much as you don't like it, we needed her. Those files that she's given us will help convict those who're responsible. Now, if you don't mind," he prizes Owen's hands off his shirt and thuds to the ground. "We all have responsibilities, Mr Grady. Mine was to get you both here unscathed and collect as much evidence as possible. I'm sorry if that clashes with your own code, but we have to do things in order to progress forward."

"That was InGen's philosophy. Act first, consider all other aspects later."

"Yes, and now they're ten steps ahead, so you can see why we're anxious to catch up."

"Root's a jackass," Owen calls out, closing the front door to his cabin. "I could've broken his scrawny little neck, what an absolute-"

He rounds the corner to see Claire, cocooned in several blankets, asleep.

"Oh shit," he whispers.

He removes his thick soled boots and tiptoes to the kitchen in search of food. He'd leant Barry his shack when he went off island, and so the rooms smelt faintly of his cheap aftershave and his favourite beer – one which Owen had never acquired a taste for. Opening the fridge, a row of brown bottles greets him, with some mouldy cheese and eggs which are probably a week past their use by date. He pops the cap off one of the beers and takes a sip.

"Eugh," he scrunches his face up…but beer is beer.

The liquor adds to the sicken feeling churning in the depths of his stomach.

"Best interests, my ass," he mutters, dribbling some beer down his chin.

He presses his free hand on his jeans pocket, feeling his phone underneath the fabric.

 _Should I?_

He slides his hand inside, before retrieving it and swiftly dialling the number that he'd committed to heart.

There was a light drizzle outside, but nothing to hinder Owen as he finally got hold of Cartwright.

"Owen…I'm glad to hear from you."

"Tell that to your voice, Leonard. Root's told me about the accounts," Owen snaps.

"Ah right."

"Is that it? _Ah right._ You have no idea what you're putting us under here, things have just got ten times worse and you've put her in the last place she wants to be!"  
"I thought that you said that she could cope."  
"Yeah, that was before, but now…"

"As long as you are there, you're safe. InGen can't snap anyone up and use them as bargaining chips," Leonard replies. "I'm sorry that this is putting a strain on your relationship-"

"Don't," he interjects. "If anything, you should be apologising to Claire. She's the one who's being blindly dragged through it all."

"Owen, please let me assure you that this was never meant to happen-"

"No, you know what happened the last time people kept information like this hidden? People died. Innocent people, so don't go panning this off on someone else, 'cause you're the only one to blame here."

He quickly presses the red button.

 _Why'd I ever trust that guy?_

He combs his damp hair with his hand, making the fabric of his shirt cling to his arm.

A red streak slowly paints itself across the sky; the rain begins to subside, only rarely disturbing the puddles in the grass. Owen shifts on the step and sets down the now flat beer. He loved this spot once. His trailer was out of the way of the Park's visitors and workers so the only sounds you could hear were Mother Nature's creations. They weren't manufactured or made for profit. They just lived. Since his return, no mammals or reptiles from this millennia had crossed his path.

 _Blue must've had fun those first few months._

"Owen?"

"Hey," he shifts aside, allowing her to sit beside him.

"What's going on?"

"Nothing much," he says, absently picking at an elongated nail. "You feeling better? I know not _better_ better, but…okay?"

She nods.

"Yeah…ish."

"Good," he smiles.

 _I've gotta tell her._

"Look, there's something that you need to know…and I swear that I wasn't told this before."

"If I'd've been told, I swear I would've said something."

"I know you would've, but…we're here now and, as much as I don't like it, if we can put things to rest the better. Like you said on the way here. InGen can pay and we can go back to our lives."

"But if it gets too much…please tell me."

"I will."

"We should have a code word or something."

"Or not."

"Aw…that's a bummer. Are you hungry?"

She nods her head.

"C'mon, I make a mean fish pie," he taps his thigh before rising to his feet and offering his hand.

Claire takes it and pulls herself up.

"Yeah, I just need to get the fish…and the veg."

"You wanna go to that joint on Main Street?"

"Are you sure you're ready to go back there?" he asks cautiously.

"Yeah, why?"  
"It's just you…" he trails off.

"I'm okay now, alright. That feeling…it's gone for now, let's just enjoy the evening, if we can."

"Sure, I'm good with that."  
 _I just don't want to push it, that's all._

"I'll drive, just need to freshen up and," he pulls his sleeve up to his nose and takes a sniff, "yeah…definitely change this shirt."

"Mmm," Claire agrees, "and this time, let's stay away from the alcohol."

He flashes her a toothy grin.

"If we must," he answers.

"Oh, and I've got to ask, did you really attack Root?"

"Attack is too strong a word," he smiles. "I ruffled him up, but nothing more."

"Hmmm."

"Well, he deserved it."

She sighs and shakes her head.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12.**

"No!"

Her shrill scream reverberates around the room.

Blood. Red. Red everywhere. The walls soaked in the blood of the dead.

Two mutilated bodies lie nearby…they were too young. Looking for dinosaurs and an adventure…an escape.

"No! Please, you have to stop…"

She screams again.

"Owen…"

He turns to Claire, her once vibrant hair clumped with blood and debris; a deep gash carved into her side. A dark shadow looms over her. She winces as the shadow places a scaley leg on the wound, slowly pressing down with her hooked claw.

Claire's bright eyes fade.

The raptor stands over her, breathing heavily. Her yellow eyes fix on him. She cries again.

"Blue!" Owen holds out his hand. "No!"

She squawks, tilting her slim muzzle 30 degrees.

"Get away! Go! Move!"

Blue stares. Her claws sunk deep into her prey.

"I'm the alpha! I'm _your_ alpha, now move!"

The raptor takes a step forward, mouth agape.

"I'm your alpha," his words tumble out haphazardly as his raptor moves closer.

He sits bolt upright. He drags a shaky hand across his forehead, and combs the other through his damp hair. His quilt lies on the floor beside the couch, kicked off earlier that night. Silently, he tiptoes to the kitchen, retrieves a bottle of water from the fridge and gulps it down in one, before refilling it from the tap. He gasps for air leaning over the sink.

 _Just a dream,_ he tells himself over and over.

The bottle taps against the counter repeatedly, his hand shaking like crazy.

Barry had kept the sink sparkling, it's so clean that Owen could see his reflection. The ugly scar that cut his eyebrow in two…the even uglier one carved into his shoulder. He flexes it lightly and winces when the tissue becomes taut. It'd been a mistake…a lapse in concentration when rounding up those pesky pteranodon, one that had been named Maggie, was a pain in the ass to capture.

"Never working with those bastards again," he sadly smirks to himself. "Give me a raptor any day…"

His dream hits him like a brick wall. That sense of helplessness…

"No," he snaps out of it. "They came back; they're loyal."

He nurses the rest of his drink before returning to the couch and wrapping himself in the duvet, shivering slightly with the cooling sweat settling on his bare skin.

 _My girls are loyal…all three of them._

The crowds cheer; a deafening cacophony of screams and whoops as Claire struggles against the waves. Tears streak down her cheeks as her lungs burn. She is dragged under, salt water rushing into her mouth. The fathoms below beckon her…it could all end if she gives in…

She pauses. Her brain wanting her to fight…her body not responding…

Weightless, she descends into the darkness…faces appear at the forefront of her mind…her nephews…her sister…Owen.

 _I have to make it,_ she tells herself. _I have to fight._

She lashes out, kicking her legs as hard as she can, slowly rising to the floodlights that surround the enclosure. Claire fills her lungs with air as she breaks the surface.

The constant movement of the water pushes her further from the stands…the cries grow louder as a shark appears tethered to a pulley several feet above the water.

"NO PLEASE NO!" she screams.

The air goes deafeningly silent. Flashes of camera phones twinkle like stars in the distance.

A surge of water sends her flying into the air. Below, the mosasaur launches itself up to its meal. It dismisses the shark carcass and clutches her in its jaws… her lungs burn…her lungs burn…

Her eyes fly open, focusing on the emerald ones above her.

"Claire wake up! Wake up!"

"Owen…" she takes in her surroundings. "I…"

"It's alright, it's alright," he softly tells her.

"I'm sorry," she shifts backwards, sitting up against the wall. "I didn't wake you, did I?"

"No…not at all. Bad dream?"

She nods, covering her eyes with her palms.

"I figured. Wanna talk about it?"

She shakes her head.

"Okay, well…" he trails off.

"Do you mind…?"  
"What?"

"Would you mind…just staying with me for a bit?"

"Sure, just be a sec."

Claire clasps the sheet in her shaking hands as he disappears through the door.

 _One…two…one…two…_

Her racing heartbeat slows, matching the pace of her counting.

"Here," Owen reappears, blanket bunched up in one hand and a bottle of water in the other.

"Thanks."

She takes a sip and sets it next to the lamp.

"What're you doing up?"

"I had a bad dream," he replies, dropping the rough woollen blanket on the floor.

" _It_ keeps you awake too?"

"Yeah," he says, sinking to the ground.

"What about? If you don't mind me asking?"

He looks at the blanket in his hands, and picks at the dried grass stuck between its fibres.

"You weren't the only one who lost control that day," he sends her a wry smile. "Truth is…that I'm…a lot of things happened that day. We're both just still trying to process it, is all. Bad dreams are part of that I guess."

"That part sucks."

"I agree. But it'll go away."

"How d'you know that?"

"I don't," he answers, picking at one of his nails. "But they've got to end sometime, right?"

His eyes pinch at the sides. She bobs her head absently.

"So what do we do?"

He opens his lips, but pauses…uncertain whether the next few seconds would result in him being kicked out of the room.

"I…err…found this thing when _it_ was getting a bit on top of me…I don't know if it'd help you or…"

Claire's hands descend onto her lap.

"What was it?"

"Mind if I…?"

He nods to the space beside her on the bed.

She pauses momentarily, before shifting to the other side. He crawls onto the mattress, swinging his feet up last.

"You're gonna wanna lie down," he says, slowly shifting down the bed and resting his head on the pillow.

After a moment, she follows suite, her head only inches away from him. Already, his heartbeat begins to race.

"Close your eyes."

She doesn't flinch, choosing to just stare at him.

"Please," he says softly.

She obeys, slowly closing her eyes.

"I'm doin' the same, okay? Get comfy first… Right, now tense up your body, like all over."

The mattress beside him shakes; again, he mirrors her, his muscles straining against his skin, fingernails digging into his palm.

"Imagine the Park."

The bed jerks slightly.

"I know…but trust me. You see the Indominus, the people screaming, the ra-," he clears his throat, "raptors…everything is chaos and then…relax."

The bed shifts again.

"Now…all the pain's gone…the people are happy, the Indominus's gone, Gray and Zach are hugging Karen, not a scratch on 'em. They're happy, they're well and they're alive because of you. You see the hangar, full of injured people…but they'll fix themselves over time and they're alive because of you. And then there's a mirror…there you stand, ginger hair an' all."

Her hand grazes across his wrist, before tapping him against his side.

"You're a little beaten up and still wearing those ridiculous heels…"

He earns another smack to the side.

"…but you're alive because of what you did. You're here because the Indominus changed us, it made us appreciate our lives more and we're gonna be living with the consequences for the rest of our lives…which isn't really that optimistic…but what I mean is that, yes, it _has_ changed us and it's difficult to accept change, but we can get through it.

The image in the mirror changes, and there you are, six years from now. You're happy and doing something that you've never done before. And you're there because you survived."

He presses his lips together, savouring the silence…the weightless feeling in his head that he got when his dad pushed him high on the swing set as a kid. He dares not open his eyes in case the feeling disappears or he disturbs her. His heart no longer feels like it's going to burst out of his chest, like a Xenomorph from his favourite film. He takes a deep breath…and begins to drift off. His body, weightless.

His cell phone blasts a chorus from the living room.

His eyes open to find Claire curled up beside him, her forehead just brushing against his shoulder.

He moves away slowly, carefully manoeuvring so he doesn't disturb her. She adjusts slightly, an arm stretching out to the now vacant spot of the bed. The clock on the bedside table reads 8:31, the red dots blinking with each second. He rolls over and off the bed, tiptoeing to the couch to find his musical phone, shutting off the alarm. The screen flashes back to a picture of his girls momentarily before… _beep!_

 _Mr Grady, I know we're not on speaking terms but I want to inform you that we have a plan of action. You and Ms Dearing must come to the Control room asap. Gary._


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13.**

Shit.

His thumb slides over the screen, making the text disappear. He runs his free hand through his hair, gathering a rough handful behind him.

"What's wrong?"

He swallows the lump in his throat, before turning on his heels. She stands in the doorway, a light blanket wrapped loosely around her shoulders.

"Nothing," he smiles, freeing his fingers from his overgrown 80s-esque mullet.

"You're lying."

Her eyes meet his, reading him like a book. The blanket slips slightly off her right shoulder.

"I'm not…I just needed to shut off the alarm and-"

"I know when you're lying, Owen. Don't treat me like a child, just tell me what's wrong."

"They want us up at the control centre," he sighs, shoving his cell into his pocket.

"And by 'they' you mean-"

"Root," he finishes. "That asshole can shove it where the sun don't shine, to be honest."

"As much as I want to agree with you on that, we should...we should at least go and see what he has to say."

"Are you mad? After…after last night…"

"I can deal with it," she replies, "it won't be a problem."

"You don't know that," he takes a step closer. "Neither of us know what he's gonna say, or what else he's gonna hold back."

"Honestly, after last night…I just want to get this over with, put it behind me and get off this island once and for all."

"Wait…you're leaving?"

"I was thinking it over, and I think it's for the best that I leave this place, as soon as InGen are shut down. Hell, I'm not an ex-Navy Seal, or markswoman, or anything like that. I don't belong here, Owen."

He pauses, hands fiddling with some imaginary token in his pocket.

"Where will you go? Back to that…"

"Home. I'll go back home."

"Claire…" he reaches out, enclosing her hands in his own. "You can't-"

"Can't what?"

"You can't go back to that life…it's no good for you. Living alone's gonna do you no favours. You need to-"

"I need to go somewhere familiar," she finishes for him, "maybe live near Karen and the boys, get back into a normal routine without dinosaurs."

"Oh," his grip loosens slightly.

"Please Owen, you know that it's difficult for me to be here," her eyes fall to the laminate. "Everything's a mess and I need to get it all straightened out."

"I know," he replies.

"After that. I want to start afresh. Not be the exec of a failed theme park, just an aunt that Karen can rely on, put the past in the past for good."

"I understand," he nods.

"What about you? You're going to stay?"

His shoulders flinch. "I guess so. Blue and Delta're here, and they're gonna need me."

"Just promise me one thing," her eyes fix on his.

"Anything."

"Don't let your girls get the better of you, I'd hate to call you and find out that…"

"Don't worry about me," he smiles. "As long as you keep in touch."

"I will. Promise."

"Good, 'cause I'd hate to lose contact…again. Ow!"

Owen removes a hand to rub the top of his arm.

"Look, it's not for a while yet…and thanks for last night, it really helped."

Her lips pull upwards, as do Owen's.

"Any time."

"We'd better get dressed," she gestures to the oversized t-shirt and shorts, incriminating evidence from a theft a little over six years previous.

"I forgot that you'd stolen them," he nods to her flattering dress.

She threads a finger through a hole near the hem.

"They're comfy; I never had the heart to throw them out."

Owen's grin widens.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Because-"

 _Ring-ring!_

 _Dammit!_

"Hello?"

"You get my message?"

"I did, and we'll be there soon, we were just-"

"Things are picking up speed, if you want to be in on this, I suggest that you get here within the next hour."

The line cuts off.

"Are we going…because if you don't, then we can get out of here, back to the mainland and-"

"No Owen," she slides a hand though her bed hair. "I'm sick of running. Let's just finish this."

"As long as you're sure," he answers.

She bobs her head, "tell him we'll be there soon."

He fishes his cell from his pocket.

"Jeez, you'd think he'd called a summit meeting for the UN or something," Owen comments, looking at the lines of cars parked up Main Street.

"He probably has," Claire agrees, pulling the oversized hoody tighter around her waist.

"I told you that thing's too big."

"It's comfy…if a little worn."

"Hmm. I know, it _was_ mine."

She rolls her eyes.

"It looks good on you though," he admits.

Her lips curl upwards briefly.

The continue over the recently tarmacked road, dodging the puddles that most likely now cover large footprints. Though they'd done their best, Carbine haven't been able to cover up all the signs of the battle that had once taken place. Even if superficially; the restored buildings, the resurfaced pavements, even the fresh air could never hide the terror of the guests and staff endured.

Behind them, a chilling breeze rolls in over the Mosasaur exhibit, sending their hair into a frenzy. They manage to rearrange their images before they step into the control room. The elevator opens, and the pair have to push their way just to grab a glimpse of Root, standing in front of a PowerPoint projected on the rear wall. Nearby, Lowery stands with arms folded, managing the equipment.

"…and so I said to him that we'd get the job done. Recent files and intel have enabled us to deduce that there are several scientists working under Wu. Many of these are lifelong friends and others mere acquaintances."

The slide skips to the next, revealing several staff photos, all embossed with the familiar logo.

"Most likely, they have been busy in the past six years, with Wi at the helm. As they possess the DNA profile of the Indominus Rex and several other assets that were displayed in the Park during its time, we assume that they have been creating more abominations to sell. Accounts taken from sources such as Ian Malcolm and Alan Grant suggest Wu and his merry band of men have taken refuge on Isla Sorna, where they would not be disturbed due to its inhabitants. Yes?"

The raised arm slowly descends.

"How was this information obtained? Nobody's been on that island in years, even before Jurassic World."

"There was only one scheduled expedition, the other was unofficial and had nothing to do with Masrani or InGen. But those are long stories for another time. Now."

The photos disappear and are replaced with an outline of the infamous Site B, a plane and stickmen.

"Our plan is to infiltrate this lab, mansion, castle that they have created on that; find Wu and co, before bringing them back here and shipping them off to the US to face the courts. Two teams will step foot onto the island, one west and the other using the river to get close; you'll be rendezvousing at the location on the map. Both teams will take a GPS to help locate the HQ. This is a very dangerous mission, so all will be able to shoot to kill."

"What about the island's other inhabitants?" Owen shouts. "The innocent one's that've been living there since it was abandoned?"

"Ah Mr Grady, glad you could make it. They will go unharmed. Shooting to kill only applies if the target's endangering the team. Local wildlife will not be harmed unless it is deemed necessary."

"Hm. Yeah, but how d'you define 'necessary'?"

Claire's elbow digs into his side.

Root turns around, oblivious to the raptor trainer's comment.

"We'll be leaving within the next 3 hours, Mr Grady will be leading Team A, moving in from a point on the western coast; you'll travel about five miles east until you'll reach the compound. We'll provide you with GPS and stuff, but apart from that, you'll be on radio silence until Wu's captured. Team B will be taking a boat ride up river to the Aviary, then travel westward to the rendezvous point. Everyone will have a copy of the co-ordinates as a precaution."

"As you're all well aware of, there _are_ dinosaurs on this island; the most recent thorough report of Isla Sorna was taken over a decade ago, our own attempts have failed to get close to the island, so there's no telling how many of them remain."

Owen's hand raises above the sea of heads.

"GPS can be tracked, Wu has a lab. You get what I'm saying?"

Root runs his fingers through his hair.

"Mr Grady, I am sure that the people you are travelling with understand this; you too will have had training about that I'm sure. An irregular schedule will be kept so you can check that you're going the right way. It's either that, or going old school. Which do you prefer?"

"If I'm honest, we could do with a little old school."

 **A/N:** I apologise for the long wait; I've been moving house/back to uni and had exams and stuff like that. I will hopefully be writing/uploading more chapters in the upcoming weeks but I can't promise anything as of now– new job! Thanks for sticking with it and if you have any thoughts – please review (I'm studying Creative Writing so any ways to improve would be very much appreciated!)

Thanks again,

Yours,

Lukascovitz.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14.**

"You _had_ to go there, didn'tyou?" Lowery huffs, adjusting his glasses.

"Who put ants in his pants?" Owen laughs, turning to Claire…he coughs when she meets him with a shake of the head.

"I'm a techie; I deal with electronics, computers…things that consist of complex mechanics and servers. Instead, you tell 'em to forget all that and go with this," he pulls a small plastic square, tapping the top of it; the arrow spins round before finally settling on 'N'.

"Oh calm down, you'd rather have Wu catch us with his magic machinery? And if you're such a 'techie', then why didn't you set up some jammer type thing to mask it? I just thought that we – as a team - didn't want Wu catchin' onto us."

Lowery folds his arms, glaring through his lenses.

"I would've, but it would've taken ages and Root wants this over and done with asap."

"Maybe this is a good thing Lowery," Claire adds, adjusting the bag on her lap. "Fewer things can go wrong if we go without tech; y'know, we don't have to worry about a power supply, or…or…"

"Yeah, yeah," he bobs his head. "How long're they gonna keep us on this boat? I thought they'd dropped anchor a long time ago."

"Securing a perimeter?"

"Guess they're making a fire 'cos we're not allowed torches," Lowery mutters.

Owen's steel toe capped boot bashes lightly against his shin.

"Agh!"

"Stop it!" Claire smacks Owen on his shoulder. "My nephews're more grown up than you two!"

"He st-" Lowery stops when Claire arches a brow.

The door at the ned of the room swings open.

"All clear," a man clad in camo says.

The three join him in the hallway before heading out onto the deck.

"Everything's been set up so we can move off right away. Here are your maps," he dishes out pages of laminated A4 and small black boxes; "and manual flashlights."

"Really? Hand powered torches?" Lowery scrutinises.

"It's all we could work with after the no tech ban," Hoyte replies.

"Next you'll be tellin' us we'll be using tin cans and string to keep contact," Lowery grins, pushing the apparatus into his back pack.

"No, we'll just not separate," he says. "Plus we have these to signal for help."

He shrugs off his backpack and unzips it. On top of food rations and drinks bottles sit red tubes.

Claire's stomach flips.

"No. Those are staying on the ship."

"We have enough fire power to stop anything big that's attracted to them; they're for safety."

"Yes, but executives thought that Jurassic World was safe, and look how that panned out."

Hoyte's lips turn white. "With all respect Ms Dearing, it's our jobs to protect you and your merry band of…experts. So, if you don't mind, leave us t' do our job and we'll all get through this alive."

"All they're gonna do is attract attention to us," Claire retorts. "They'll just keep coming and coming until we…sorry, you have no ammunition left, and then we'll be back to defending _ourselves_ with sharp sticks."

"Are you trying t' make my life as difficult as possible Ms Dearing?"

"No, I'm trying to keep everyone alive."

His lips slowly change from white to pink.

"Fine, we'll do it your way… but if and when we run int' trouble, you're gonna wish we had these."

"Well, if you do your job properly, we won't need them, will we?" Owen interjects.

"Oh like you did? My brother was part of _Jurassic World_ 's Animal Containment Unit, and he was mauled by one o' _your_ raptors. So, why didn't you do _your_ job when he was bein' ripped t' shreds?"

Owen focuses on the small crab running across his shoe.

"That was not Ow- Mr Grady's fault, but a lack of communication between his department and the lab, if anything, blame me…but not him."

"I'll blame whoever I like. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got t' go and brief my guys."

He turns their back on them, pacing over to the group of men in black.

"That was way outta line; what an asshole," Lowery says.

Hoyte looks over his shoulder. Lowery's eyes move to the treeline.

"We're movin' in five!" Hoyte shouts before turning his back to them once more.

"You good?" Owen addresses Claire.

"Yeah," she replies. "The sooner we get in there, the sooner it's over, right?"

He bobs his head, "plus, this time you won't have to cover yourself in dinosaur poo!" his lips stretch upwards. The mixture of her vanilla lotion and excrement was an odd mix, but the memory of it doesn't being back bad memories.

Lowery frowns; looking to his boss, then the raptor trainer.

"Last time…ah never mind," Owen attempts, but shakes his head instead.

"Hey, whatever you guys are into," he smirks before striding off.

Owen's knuckles turn white.

"We're doing the right thing, aren't we?" Claire asks, turning her back on the ocean.

"Yeah, of course we are. Why? Something bothering you?"

"I just got this feeling that we're going to do something that's going to bite us in the ass?"

"Well, in all honesty," he rubs the back of his head, "we can't know that. We'll just have to be careful."

"But what if that's not enough?" she turns round and finds herself millimetres away from him; the scent of his cologne – _surely_ that'd _draw attention to us_ – makes her skin prickle.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, just chilly," she breaks the trance and moves away.

"Hmm," he tips his head upwards, briefly noting the slight damp patches on her back.

Claire's walking boots barely fill the footprints left by the Mercs Root sent with them. Owen within an arm's reach behind her and the Mercs armed so heavily, Claire's stomach settles and she continues on. Lowery heads the group, on navigation duty, closely followed by Hoyte.

The other men have names, but she can't quite pin them to faces just yet. Like in her position at _Jurassic World_ , her job was to get it done, not become best buddies with every employee.

But then she became the punchline for ninety percent of the jokes, _what's ginger and has no feelings?_ An orange? Nope. _The Boss._ Oh how they laughed. She didn't have their respect… _did they ever compare me to the Indominus?_ _No respect, just pure fear?_ She wraps her (Owen's) hoody around her. _She was a loner; she ate her sibling – but Karen doesn't have to worry about that-_

"What'cha laughing at?"

"Huh?"

Owen repeats his question. The Merc in front of her briefly turns to face her, but then faces back front.

"Oh, nothing."

"You okay?"

 _Will he ever stop asking me that?_

"Yeah, you?"

"Pretty sure there's a tonne of sand in my boots...oo…and a stone, but as good as ever."

"Hey," one of the Mercs says, "how long've we been walking?"

Hoyte pulls up a sleeve.

"Two and a bit hours," he replies, he holds up his arm.

The line grinds to a halt.

"Has anyone had any sign of a hostile?"

The long line of faces twist side to side.

"How about you, Raptor trainer? You seen any tracks?" Hoyte calls out.

"He was in the Navy, not the Navo!" Claire snaps.

"Sorry!" Hoyte replies.

"Nope, nothing," he moves forward, inching towards Claire.

"You know Velociraptors best Mr Grady, is there any chance that we're being followed?"

"That's the thing about raptors, Hoyte,' he replies. "You never know until it's too late."

"Well, doesn't that just fill you up with confidence," Lowery sighs from the front.

"We know where we are, for sure Mr Cruthers?"

"Without the ability of GPS, I can't be one hundred percent but I think that we're about here," he jabs an area on the laminated map, making it shudder.

"An approximate's better than nothing. Few night viz gadgets means no movement until the dawn, we'll set up camp just below the canopy for safety, where those little Compy shits can't get us. Ross, Doyle, you two've got the gear. Let's get a move on before it's too late."

From the report descriptions that Owen – shouldn't've – looked at, he expected to see for miles…or at least a few long necked giants from millennia ago…Getting slapped by vegetation every three jittery steps along a branch was not what he wished for. The tarp above them crackles slightly in the breeze, the smell of damp wood clings to their clothes and nostrils.

He slowly leans back on the trunk, straddling the wide branch for balance and untying a loop of rope.

"Need a hand?"

"Yeah, thanks Lowery," he replies.

"So…." He begins, whipping the end of the rope round in a circle.

"So," Owen parrots.

"How are you doing?" He finally finishes.

"Good, and you?"

"Yeah, fine."

Lowery lets go, the rope flies around the trunk and smashes into his left arm.

"Dammit!"

Owen's lips curl upward.

"That hurt," Lowery scowls.

"I got that…never mind."

He flings the rope around the trunk once more, before securing him in with a double knot with a quick release.

"You think that this'll be alright, right?

"Pfft sure. Look, loads of movies have heroes stuck in a dilemma with seemingly no way out 'nd they always make it so…it'll happen, okay. We'll keep on powerin' through until its done."

"God I hope you're right," Lowery says, before climbing down on another branch below.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15.**

 _Scratch stratch…crunch._

"Ahh!"

Owen wakes, one foot sliding easily off the bark, shaking his weighted hand. It grips tighter.

"What the-"

"Sssh! Don't move."

"Claire?"

"Hang on… just stay still and…"

 _Pop!_

Something drops onto his lap; Claire rests the sniper rifle on the branch.

"Are you okay?" She asks, scooting closer.

"Yeah, what's…this?"

He picks the creature up by the tail; four limbs sway with Owen's movements, a slender neck attaches the head to the shoulders and a similarly narrow tail sprouts from its rear. He runs the back of his forefinger along its forearm, skin glossing over microscopic green scales. "Wasn't something similar to this described in Malcolm's thing…his…his report?" Owen asks, clicking his fingers as if it'd help him remember quicker.

"Maybe. But it looks like a cat, not a dinosaur."

"Compy? That what he called it, right? Small, green, creepy…"

"That could apply to a lot of things though, Owen," gingerly, she moves a finger to stroke the skin stretching over its ribs.

"Whatever it is, it's messed up. And thanks for killing it, god knows what it could've done had you not."  
Claire shifts back.

"Oh no, that wasn't a sarcastic comment. Genuinely, thanks." His lips curl upwards. "I'd err…better get this seen to if I don't it to get infected…which I don't. Would you mind," his eyes flick down to the rope tied around his waist. "I mean I would do it, but I've got a nearly severed finger and a dead dino so…"

"Alright, Mr Dramatic," he sees her eyes roll in the moonlight.

Inside, his stomach churns a little with excitement. If movies had taught him anything, it's that point when the brave hero and the beautiful 'damsel in distress' locked lips. But Claire isn't the damsel, nor is he the hero, instead he forces it to stop.

He had to take it slow, a step at a time. He'd be damned if his brain would let him down at this moment.

 _She'd_ killed it.

 _She'd_ touched of her own free will.

 _She_ has to make the first move and he needed to respect that.

"There," she says slowly wrapping the rope around her palm and elbow. "You okay?"

"Mm-hmm," he replies, "we should show this to Hoyte."

They slowly descend to the group gathering on the forest floor.

"This is some freaky ass shit," Hoyte says, his eyes almost bulging out of his head. "Where d'you find it?"

"It attacked me and Claire killed it."

His finger pokes at its stomach, where the bullet had ripped through its guts.

"What did you use to kill it?"

"I thought you were an expert in all things military," Owen retorts.

"I am; I just want to hear it from her."

"I borrowed a sniper rifle when I saw it go-"

"A sniper rifle…do you know how to use one of those?"

"I used a one…once."

"And do you know how powerful they are?"

"Fairly powerful yeah."

"' _Fairly'_ she says, so d'you know what 'appens when a bullet of that calibre goes through something like this?" He motions to the dead feline/reptile crossbreed. "It carries on goin', so f' all we know, one of my guys could be bleedin' out up there with a severed artery because you shot a microscopic little thing! How d'you get it?"

"I…one of your men was asleep so I just-"

"Borrowed it?" he interjects.

"Yeah," she replies.

"Don't touch anything of ours, y' got that? Leave shootin' things t' the professionals!"

"Hey! Asshole…"

Hoyte falls to a knee, clutching his left eye.

"Speak to her again like that and I'll do much worse," Owen growls, wrapping his palm around his knuckles. "Claire's got more balls than anyone I've ever known; don't you dare even _think_ anything less that that!"

Some of the men stare blurry eyed at Hoyte. Lowery's head appears amongst them.

Hoyte sucks in air. He stands, eyes locked on the raptor trainer.

"Touch one of our weapons again and you'll be sent back without hesitation." His jaw barely moves. "Now pack up! We leave in five!"

They lag behind the main group who trudge through the undergrowth being as obvious to nearby predators as possible. Hoyte strides ahead at the front, almost leaving them behind.

"Thanks for that, back there," Claire says, grasping a half broken twig and severing it from the branch.

"Any time." He grins, nursing some bruised knuckles. "It was pretty bad ass of you to do that and without catching me too, that takes some skill."

"Well." She shrugs, "last time I did that…" she trails off, her cheeks turning slightly rosy.

"Yeah, you don't bow down under pressure, that's for sure." He ignores her reddening features, remembering that feeling of her lips on his. He shakes the thought away, now was not the time to be thinking about that…

"So," he says, "what do you think about that cat-thing? Pretty weird, right?"

"Yeah," she replies, absentmindedly. "Just confirms what Root and his people thought initially, doesn't it? Wu has got to be here."

"And that's just one thing, who knows what other abominations of nature he's cooked up."

Something white grazes the foliage beside them. Owen freezes.

"Claire," he whispers. "Claire!"

"What?" She pauses, resting a thick soled boot on a rotting log.

"Did you see that?"

"See what?"

His eyes fix on the spot whilst he reached down to grab a thick branch.

"Owen, there's nothing there."

"I saw somethin'."

"Give it here." She reaches out to take the weapon from him.

His grip loosens on the crumbling bark. She swings it into the brush and they watch it disappear into the brush. She follows it, instantly descending and disappearing from sight.

"Claire!"

His call goes unanswered.

"Claire! CLAIRE!"

"Oh calm down," she calls back. "I'm okay. But don't come down!"

"Why?"

"It's a sheer…drop," she replies, rubbing a slightly twisted ankle.

"Shit." He moves closer to the treeline, moving the enormous leaves to find her sitting a few feet down. "Want a hand getting back up?"

She looks side to side before looking up. "Yeah, there doesn't seem to be any other way up. You must've been imagining something; there's nothing else here."

"Shit, I got you into the mess, didn't I?" he says, moving to his knees.

"Let's not think about that now, just gimme a hand."

He obliges, extending a hand down, anchoring himself by lying face down on the floor.

"Take it slowly," he advises.

She reaches up, holding his callused fingers between her hands. She finds a foothold in the wall, a pretty sturdy tree root.

"Wait. Don't move."

His eyes travel further down the ravine, past the shelf Claire fell onto. It's either some kind of messed up déjà vu, a mirage or some sort of sorcery as she stands amongst the trees, sniffing the air. The same grey scales and spines, the same set of needle like teeth, the same extended forearms.

He blinks, but she remains there. Nostrils flare with every breath. He moves his head millimetres. Her orange eye shifts towards them.

"What-"

"Ssh. On the count of three, I'm gonna pull you up," he whispers, "then we run. Don't look back, just run. Okay?"

"Mmm." Her voice comes out as a high pitched squeal.

"I've got you, okay? Trust me."

She nods.

"Right. One, two…three," he whispers before pulling.

She scrambles to find more foot holes in the earth. His muscles burn, straining with the effort. Her body lands on top of his; his heart hammers in his chest. But before he can hold her there, she jumps to her feet, pulling him up with her.

"Go go go!" she yells, with her heart pumping the fastest it has in years.

His hand locks in hers as they sprint. The forest a blur in their vision as they continue faster and faster away. Their chests heave as they clear fallen trees and long abandoned carcasses like Olympic hurdlers.

 _THUD! THUD! THUD! THUD!_

 _THUD! THUD! THUD!_

 _THUD DU-DUD-DU-DUD!_

They taste the mouldy foliage as they lose their footing, smacking their heads on the ground. Something warm wraps around their feet, pulling them back. With their hands still connected, Owen searches for her face as colours melt into one another.

"Claire?"

The form beside him doesn't move.

"Cla-ire?" he repeats; his voice hitches a little.

His hair flickers as a foul odour fills his nose. He looks up. A white blob moves closer. The smell becomes more prominent.

A noise in the distance makes the blob distance itself. His vision clears slightly. A raptor appears, staring at the monster in front of them. It calls again, a raspy tone similar to his girls back on Isla Nublar. There is a low rumble before the thudding starts again, the foul odour becomes fainter and fainter.

 **A/N:** I apologise, I thought that I'd have finished this by now but university and other things just got in the way. I'll try not to make promises but I've got the passion for writing back –yay- and so should have more chapters flying out shortly. As always, please feel free to R &R as all opinions are appreciated. Thanks for reading!

Lukascovitz


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16.**

Fingers scratch at the thick carpet of foliage; they slowly crawl over rotten leaves and mud until they find warm skin.

"Claire?"

His voice is thick; his throat feels like sandpaper.

"Claire?" he repeats. His hand moves to cover hers.

 _Please, for the love of God, say something._ His heart smacks his ribs in some attempt to break free. His breaths become short; he squeezes her hand.

The world around him grinds to a halt, playing in slow motion.

Birds leap off branches, their wings take an age just for a single beat.

The events play over in his mind, the forest in front of him becoming background noise to the thought of that _thing._ His mind's eye takes over, showing him their pursuer.

 _It can't be real. It's dead. In the bottom of the Mosasaur exhibit. She died._

"Is it gone?" Her voice is barely above a whisper but it snaps him out of it. Slowly, her arm rotates, allowing her fingers intertwine with his. They lock together, grounding him in reality. Breaths become slower, more even.

"It's gone," he finally replies. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," she says, moving her hand away before pushing herself up onto her forearms. "You?"

"Yeah, I-"

He attempts to do the same, slowly moving his arms underneath him and push up. His left arm shakes, holding all of his weight. He collapses back down, landing on the same rock that cracked his collarbone.

"Owen!" She scrambles to her feet and moves closer, ignoring the puncture wound in her ankle. "What is it? Where does it hurt?"

"Shoulder," he pants.

"Okay, okay," she repeats, not letting the adrenaline get to her. The last time she panicked, those she cared about ended up close to death or dead. She be damned if history decided to repeat itself. "I'm gonna take the pack off, alright?"

"Mmm."

She slowly undoes the plastic clips on the straps, removing the weight of the emergency food and other bits and bobs off his back. She drags it through the mud, leaning it against a tree.

"Jeez. What've you got in there? Rocks?"

"Probably," he winces, hesitantly twisting his body up and finally sits upright. "Gonna need a hell of a lot of morphine when we get outta here." The pain begins to numb as his heart increases its pace; the black dots in his eyes grow, making a faint ring of emerald surround them.

"I'll see what's in the bag," Claire replies, resisting the urge to wear off her adrenaline by flinging the rations into the dense undergrowth. Her hands shake, making it difficult to undo the plastic clips that hold down the red case containing the medical supplies. The zip snags on a loose piece of bandage, so she rips it open, sending metal teeth flying everywhere.

"Here," she says, handing him a packet of pills.

After reading the paper packaging, he pops a few. Coughing before going still.

"Owen?"

"One sec," he breathes, "hurt…bad." He stares at her, before slowly inhaling. "Sorry, that bloody hurt!"

"Those pills'll kick in, just hold on. Okay? They'll be back for us soon. Right?"

"Yeah," she replies, facing away from him.

"Once more with enthusiasm," he chuckles. "They'll look behind them, see we're not there and backtrack."

"For the guy who punched their leader defending the girl who humiliated him?"

Owen swallows.

"Lowery's a good guy, he'll convince them."

"Yeah," Claire replies half-heartedly. "I guess so. In the meantime," she continues, pulling a bandage from the pack, "let's get you patched up."

"She… _it_ didn't hurt you, did it?"

"No." The pain in her ankle has dulled into an inconvenience more than anything. "Let me have a look."

Slowly, she pokes the buttons through the holes methodically, reaching about halfway down his chest before stopping.

"Y'know, last time you did this, it was six years ago…and we were having way more fun…"

She looks up to meet his smile with a raised eyebrow. The shirt slips off with ease, revealing a purple and blue discolouration that covers most of his shoulder.

"Shit."

"Is it bad?" he asks, moving his head slowly to his right. His eyes move downwards to find the bruise. "Oh."

"It's okay," Claire says, ignoring her heart, which could break free any minute. Her fingers brush against the back of his hand. "We've got some meds in you, we have food, it'll be okay."

Her heart rate belies her words as her pulse thumps against his wrist. Her lips lift for a brief moment before she busies herself with making a sling from the bandage.

"We can't stay here," he says softly, "it's not safe."

"I know but-"

"Claire, as soon as you've done that, we're going to backtrack. Okay? If Hoyte's smart, he'll do the same and we'll meet him in the middle."

"But what if we don't?"

"We have the co-ordinates, a map and compass, and a weapon."

She gives him a quizzical look.

"It's tucked in the back of my pants. Thank God the safety's on," he chuckles. "All we have to do is head west, follow the river to the old Aviary before going west again."

"All in a dinosaur infesting jungle," she replies.

"Hey. We made it back to the park last time, didn't we? Plus, it's still daylight so we've got enough time to make a few miles before making camp, and that's if our protection hasn't found us before then." He uses his good arm to reassuringly grasp her shoulder.

"Here," she says, moving closer to him and slowly lifts his right arm.

"Ow! Ow ow ow ow ow ow…"

"Oh stop whinging," she replies, placing the loop around his neck then moving it around his elbow to keep his arm in place. "There." She lowers his arm until it snugly fits into the sling. "Better?"

"Mmm." He finally opens his eyes.

"Good, well, I guess we'd better get moving."

After taking about ten minutes to get up, Owen presses the firearm into Claire's hand.

"You're gonna need this," he says.

"You're sure?"

"Yeah, you've got a good aim on you. You'll be fine," he replies.

She turns it over in her hands, feeling its weight. Her thumb brushes the safety off, then she turns it back on. Her eyes find his for a moment. He nods. She slings the pack over her shoulder, settles it against her back before tucking the gun under her belt. Owen holds the rectangle of plastic level in one hand, the needle sways slightly. Claire holds the map out in front of them.

"So, where were we last night?"

"There." Owen nods at the laminated A4.

"Here?" Claire guesses, pointing at a random point on the plastic.

"Nope, a little bit lower and to the left."

Her finger glides to her left at a slow speed.

"Further, further," Owen repeats. "Keep going…aaaand there. Well, there-ish."

He walks away, finding his bearings with the compass still lying flat on his palm.

"We're miles from the river! There's no way that we'll get there before dark."

"If we go back the way we came, we could meet up with Hoyte before then anyway. We'll be okay."

"But what if we take a wrong turn?"

"We'll just follow these," he replies, kicking a stone. It rolls along awkwardly over the mud until it disappears. Claire moves closer to him until the large print materializes in the dirt.

"The good news is that we can't possibly miss one," Owen says grimly.

 _That's the only good news._

"I'm not going to tell you again, Cruthers," Hoyte spits. "We can't wait. We've got another team meeting at the rendezvous point and I sure as hell ain't gonna leave 'em there like sitting ducks!"

 _For God's sake Lowery, be a man and do something for once in your life._

"No."

"What?"

"No. We can't just leave them out there."

"You're saying that we should just leave the second team to wait for how long? Days? Just to search for them and jeopardize the whole mission?"

"If I remember correctly, Root is running this and he put Owen in charge. So if you wanna go back with Claire and Owen in coffins because your group of grown men couldn't sit tight for say a few hours, then be my guest!"

Hoyte's lips go white. His finger twitches against the safety on his automatic.

"Here's the deal," he begins, glancing down at his watch, "it's 15:37 now. We go back the way we came for an hour, more than likely we'll run into them, dead or alive. But if they're not there, and we don't find them by 16:37 on the dot, then we're leaving them behind."

Lowery nods, knowing that he's not going to get a better deal with the Devil's slightly nicer cousin.

"You 'eard me! That way," Hoyte points back down the muddy trail.

There's a collective groan, but nothing more. Lowery watches them one by one stand, collect their belongings, then trudge to their positions.

"I did it," he whispers to himself. With a spring in his step, he joins the rear of the pack before they disappear back into the foliage.

 **A/N:** Hey there! As always, thank you for reading and please feel free to R&R. It took such a long time for this one, I had two essays due in for my uni course so it's been a bit manic. But they're out the way now so yay!

Also, happy (belated) new year, let's hope that it's better than the last.

Thanks again,

Yours,

Luka


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17.**

The greens and browns of the forest begin to merge into one another; their shadows merge in front of them as the light fades. At Owen's request, they travel through the denser parts of the forest, sticking to the narrow trails between trees rather than the wider spaces. Though it is inevitable that they have to cross a small open plain. With Owen's inability to run, they crouch as low as possible and move cautiously. The crashing of heavy footfalls makes them pause for a moment, before the crunching of branches and foliage confirms that it's only a local Brachiosaur, or Apatosaurus – Claire's not entirely sure which – finding a decent spot to dine for the evening.

"It's okay," Owen reassures her, "just keep going. She knows were here and we're not threats."

Her heart thumps in her chest as she begins to move again, taking on leaden step at a time. Her boots are caked in god knows what and her legs ache from the long distance run that got them into this mess. What she wouldn't give to be anywhere but here, on a dinosaur infested island. _But at least I'm here with him…_

The sure-footed steps immediately behind her and the occasional sharp intake of breath confirm that he's sticking with her. Her heart rate begins to settle back into its normal rhythm. Normal. That's something that she's not felt in a long time. She'd love to be able to run away again and forget that what happened. But she can't. Not after the last time she did that, she never thought in a million years that Owen would react the way he did. At the time, _For Survival_ was a coping mechanism, a way to live with someone who'd been through the same ordeal and felt the fear as she did; someone who knew exactly what to say and what not to about the situation.

That was Owen. That was their relationship. They were friends…sometimes a little more, but in that month, there wasn't much else to do besides heal – mentally and physically – and process their lives. He was a real gentleman about it; they shared the same bed when nightmares plagued them, the odd kiss and that one night…but nothing more besides that. Had he mentioned something about it, about wanting more then she would've considered it but…he hadn't and she didn't think…wasn't sure enough to bring it up herself.

 _People don't fall in love just after one kiss,_ she tells herself, _but there must've been something, otherwise he wouldn't still be here._ If they weren't in their current situation, then maybe she'd say something. Or maybe later, she'd comment on her future, possibly with him, that is, if they don't get eaten beforehand.

"Claire, you okay?"

"Yeah," she replies, "you?"

"I'm good. We'll make it to the tree line, then stop for a break. Don't know how much longer I can take this pain."

"We can stop here-"

"No no, the tree line'll be safer."

"Is something following us?" she asks, sensing the change in tone.

"We're good, just in a bit of pain. Adrenaline's worn off."

"Just hang on, just a bit longer."

 _If he collapses, I'm going to kill him myself, never mind the predators!_

His gasps become more frequent as they move closer. Ten, nine, eight meters or so…

"Keep going," he urges her. "Please, keep going."

She moves into the safety of the forest with him just about on her heels.

"Oh, thank God," he breathes, before sliding his back down the trunk of a tree.

"We…we can't stay here, we're still in the open," Claire insists. "Just a bit longer, Owen. Till we're out of sight."

He looks up at her, her eyes connecting with hers. And from that, she knows. She knows that just breathing is a task for him.

"Owen, come on," she says, "just a few more feet!"

He shakes his head with his eyes closed.

"Please, Owen. Just a bit longer."

"Claire, I can't," he wheezes. "You go, I'll…I'll…catch you up, I promise."

"Like hell I will. There's no way I'm leaving you alone," she replies, ridding herself of the pack and pulling the gun out of her belt. She crashes down into the dirt beside him.

"Claire, don't. You need to go, get somewhere safe," he tells her, brushing her knee with his hand.

"No, I'm not leaving you on your own," she replies, ripping the straps off the bag and rooting around for the pack of pills. "Here." She hands him the packet and almost empties the pack for a bottle of water.

After half emptying the canteen, Owen leans back against the tree, eyes closed as the medication begins to fight the pain. Claire lifts her trouser leg, reaching down to feel the puncture mark left by _it._ Her forefinger brushes against it, a sharp pain runs up her calf.

"What is it?" Owen asks, hearing her sharp intake of breath.

"Nothing," she replies, quickly wrapping gauze and a single bandage around it.

"Let me look." He moves forward, but winces and returns to leaning against the tree.

"I told you it's nothing," she tells him. "Just stay still for a bit, then we can move on."

Thoughts of death enter her mind, but she's unable to shake them. The footfalls of a nearby herd, the early evening chatter from the canopy, cracks of twigs from further in the forest. It would take a single creature to take them both out, she knew that. But leaving him was most certainly not on the cards.

"Claire?"

"Mmm."

"We're gonna die here, aren't we?"

"No, of course we're not."

Owen smiles to himself, feeling like he's at that point in an action movie where the heroes feeling that all is lost, when of course it isn't. But being in this position, it's difficult to convince himself otherwise.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing," he replies, wincing at the involuntary shrug of his shoulder.

"How's the pain?'

"'Bout an eight." It was more like a twelve, but she doesn't need to know that.

"You think that you'll be able to move in a minute?" she asks, stuffing the provisions back into the pack.

"Claire. Go without me. Please."

 _What a cliché thing to say._

"You need to go, go and find the others, then Wu, then save the world."

"Like hell I will! Not without you," she stubbornly replies. "I don't know where this martyrdom bullshit has come from, but I'm not leaving you to get eaten or stepped on or whatever. We're in this together."

She rises to her feet, securing the pistol underneath her belt.

"Get up. Now."

"Claire, I-"

"No excuses, get your ass up now."

 _Was she like this with me before?_ He has trouble remembering what it was exactly like to be with her. That month was used for recuperation – physical scars healing so much quicker than the mental ones. They were used to get back to day to day life, as much as the public and paparazzi allowed them to.

Begrudgingly, he slides his legs underneath him and gets onto his feet.

"You first," Claire orders him. "We're going at your pace if that's what it's gotta take."

"Yes ma'am," Owen replies, feeling like he had returned to his days in the Navy.

She slips the pack on, allowing him to take point on the vague path.

The further they move from the clearing, the harder it becomes to see the giant fork-like breadcrumbs left in the dirt. Several times, they have to double back and find the previous imprint, taking valuable minutes of the remaining daylight. The pain in Owen's shoulder subsided for all of twenty minutes, before the repeated movement from walking made the effect of the drugs ware off.

He checks his watch. 16:27. He's got to stop again. His breaths becoming shorter as the pain takes hold of his lungs.

"You're good. We're good," Claire tells him, taking the chance to catch her own breath.

"We're nowhere near the river, or Hoyte," he replies, using his good arm to take the strain off his neck.

"Oh stop complaining," she smiles, "we're okay for now. We stick together, that's been the plan since…"

"Since six years ago?" He raises an eyebrow.

Claire takes a breath.

"Yes. I was the one to bail, and that's on me," she says. "But we're together now and I'm not going to quit. Not when we've got something to fight for."

His lips pull upwards. _Something…_

"For survival?"

"For survival," she confirms, "and for…us."

She steps forward, cupping her hand on his cheek and presses her lips briefly to his. A fleeting taste before she pulls away. Her hand lingers longer, feeling his unkempt beard under her palm. He covers her hand with his, pressing his forehead against hers.

"Always," he smiles.

"Well, I told you that they'd be okay."

They jump, moving a few feet back from one another. Claire's hand automatically reaches for the gun in her waistband.

The nearby foliage is trampled underfoot by thick soled boots.

"We're moving in two," Hoyte tells one of his minions.

"Oh," Lowery breathes, palm glued to his forehead. "Thank God you two are okay. Another minute and they would have turned back…" He looks at Claire, then Owen. "I ruined a moment, didn't I?"


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18.**

"She seems to've patched you up pretty good." The medic briefly smiles at Owen, lowering his arm to a comfortable angle. "But your clavicle's definitely broken."

 _I could've told you that for free, mate!_

"I seriously recommend that you call it a day and wait for evacuation."

"Yeah, like I'm gonna do that. Just gimme some pain meds and I'll be fine."

"Mr Grady," the medic pauses, studying his face. "I get that you're trying to act all tough and macho, but this mission is dangerous, even without a broken shoulder. The truth is that in there…" She pauses again and points towards the vague direction they will be taking, "using your weaker hand is not going to help anyone."

"I was in the Navy," he attempts to reason. "I can deal with it."

"So what happens if someone's attacked in front of you, and you can't do anything but shoot the ground around them."

A weight drops in his stomach; the memory of that stupid nightmare replays in his mind. The vision of Claire being mauled by Blue makes his throat go dry.

"I've gotta do it," he whispers.

"Sorry, what?"

"I'm not giving up. Don't try and guilt trip me into not going, cos I am."

"I think you're making a grave mistake," the medic warns. "But I can't stop you. I just hope that can live with yourself if something goes south."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I've seen people run into situations thinking they're gonna be heroes at the end of it. Probably only half of 'em come back. There's no shame in turning away here, Mr Grady."

He pushes the sick feeling in his stomach aside. Now is not the time to be thinking about things like that.

"I'll stay back, but we're finishing this here and now," he attempts to compromise.

"Sometimes, people can't take it. Mentally or physically, Mr Grady. Like I said, there's no shame in it."

She rolls up a sleeve, brandishing a large burn that takes up most of her forearm. "I tried to be a hero once, not on duty but there was a crash on the freeway and an old man was stuck in his car. It went up in flames and I couldn't get him out in time; this reminds me every day that I couldn't save him. But I realised that day that some situations can't be won. It's crap to think like that, but one day, you'll look back and think 'wow, yeah, turning around was the best thing I did' or – if you're lucky - 'could've done'."

"I…" Owen begins, but can't seem to find the words.

"Hoyte might decide not to take you anyway." The medic shrugs, rolling down her sleeve. "Pretty stupid to take someone with an injury as bad as that into a potential war zone.

Consider what I've told you, Mr Grady. It's not too late to change your mind."

"Yeah, thanks," he nods.

She smiles briefly at him, before leaving him on the rotten log to find Hoyte.

The drugs she gave him before start to kick in, lessening the pain to a slight throb. He looks at his other hand, considering his choices. He'd done drills in the Navy plus weekends at the shooting range to work on his weaker hand…but he'd never used it in a situation like this. His target sheets always tended to be shredded to pieces, just on the target's far right hand side.

"Hey." Claire's voice makes him jerk upwards. "You okay?"

"Mmm, yeah," he replies, a smile tugs at his lips. "And you?"

"Good," she breathes, "Hoyte says we're moving in two. What did the medic say?"

"Fracture. Nothing serious." His smile grows wider. "Good to go when you're ready."

Claire pauses, lowering herself cautiously onto the rotting log beside him.

"Are you sure? We _can_ sit this one out…"

"No no no, we need to finish this. Then…then we can move on, right?"

He covers her hand with his.

"Yeah," she agrees, sandwiching his hand between hers. "I just want to make sure that what we decide here is…it's the right thing to do for us."

"It will be. Closure will help with…everything. Plus, if it all goes to plan then we can put all of this behind us and move on, right? Fresh start and all?"

Claire smiles briefly to herself.

 _No more photocopying or highlighting…no more nightmares of that day on loop._

It sounds like a dream…way too farfetched to ever become a reality.

 _Owen'll stay on the island with his girls and I'll…I'll…_

Staying would mean facing the world she had created day after day, facing the events that had send her into…that dark place. Even with Owen by her side, the thought of staying there made that familiar sickening feeling rise up again. But life – if you could call it that - without him would result into falling back into the same pattern again. A fresh start sounds promising, but the odds of them getting out of this with only a couple of physical scars is impossible.

His hand shifts slightly, bringing her back to reality.

"We can do this," he says, a voice barely above a whisper, "I promise. We'll make it back to Karen, Grey and Zac on the other island. We'll be good, okay? I'm with you whatever happens."

"Alright, we're movin' on!" Hoyte orders, "wasted enough time already."

Owen leans forwards, tweaking his shoulder slightly with the effort. As he rises, he slowly exhales.

"You sure that you're okay?" Claire asks.

He looks at her, takes a short but subtle breath; "yep, lead the way."

His eyes are abnormally wide, but she keeps that to herself. Claire nods allowing him to pass in front of her; she places her hand between his shoulder blades. A vile feeling begins to poison her stomach again.

"Mr Grady." Hoyte steps in front of them, "do you feel well enough to continue?"

"Yeah," he nods, feeling the eyes of the medic burning into the right cheek. "I've had some meds and they're kickin' in. I'm good to go."

"Okay, but Sophie'll be keeping a close eye on you till we get back to Isla Nublar. And you will not be using any of our rifles, are we clear?"

"Yes," Owen says through gritted teeth.

"Good," Hoyte responds, picking up his own firearm. "You'll travel in the middle with your pals. Can't drop behind then…or wander off."

"Hoyte, there's something you should know," Claire interjects.

"What now?" he sighs.

"There's another Indominus."

His brow furrows, sending a bead of sweat down his dirty cheek. He quickly wipes it away.

"Don't be stupid. That thing was killed during the Jurassic World incident," he snaps.

"We know. We were there, we saw it happen. But there was one here, for sure; it wasn't as big but it was like a trained dog," Owen replies.

"Trained dog?"

"Yeah, there was a raptor too. They communicated with one another, like before, but this was different. InGen wanted to create smarter animals…"

"So you're saying that InGen have made dinos that literally obey commands…word for word."

"I don't know," Claire raises her voice, shrugging. "I'm not a scientist or animal behaviourist, but they're on another level. You think that cat thing I shot made any sense either?"

Hoyte canvases the ground in front of him.

"I get that it sounds stupid, but then so does bringing back dinosaurs from the dead. Wu was _way_ out of control way before he was bought by InGen, this could just be one of his achievements."

Hoyte snorts. "Achievements?"

"To him, they are."

"So what? He says 'jump' they answer 'how high'?"

"I'm grasping at straws but yeah, probably."

"So, what do we do?" Hoyte shifts, grip tightening slightly on his weapon.

"How would I know? I'm just telling you what Owen and I saw."

Hoyte wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Someone coughs from the other side of the group.

"If these creatures are more intelligent than we first presumed, then we need to be extra vigilant. I doubt that the other team will have this intel, so we need to presume that, unless we have a visual, they're dead.

If they are as dangerous and well trained as Ms Dearing says they are, then they're going to be on the hunt for us in possibly abnormal ways. We take it slow, and I want all directions covered. Stay alert and let's move."

The others turn to look at each other.

"Do we now have selective deafness?! Move!"

They snap to attention, snuggling the butts of their guns against their shoulders whilst scanning the ground for any forgotten equipment before forming a line in the direction they came in.

"Higgins! You take the middle and stay with Grady and Dearing. Cruthers, I want you with them too. Alright?" Hoyte barks his orders as he takes the lead.

 **A/N:** Okay, first off, I apologise that this has been months in the making. It's been a bit mad with end of year exams, coursework, work and many, many other things! I will try to keep this going over the next few months because the end of the academic year is nigh - yay! – and then it's summer!

As always, please leave any comments as they are greatly appreciated and thank you for reading.

Yours,

Luka


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19.**

The source of the river has a red tinge to it; the creature lies in the shallows, its large grey stomach rises, wait, then falls too quickly. They here clicking in the foliage nearby, a noise that makes the hairs stand up on Claire's arms.

"Raptors?" Hoyte mouths to Owen.

He responds with a brisk nod; the narrow tears in the poor creature's shoulder and rump are consistent to what his girls are capable of. It wouldn't take too much for one of them to bring down a creature of this size.

 _What the hell is that thing? I really need to brush up on things like this._

"We take it slow," Hoyte whispers, determined to keep all noise to a minimum. "Safety's off, eyes on everything…if anything moves, shoot it."

"Hey!" Claire replies, "that wasn't the deal."

"Keep your voice down! You want to get us all killed?"

"Of course I don't! But the deal was that no animals would be harmed here, unless it was necessary."

Hoyte looks at Owen. He shrugs his good shoulder.

"I think this falls under necessary, Claire," Sophie says.

He takes a moment, before nodding. "Okay, but you know that it's going to be a massive risk. What's more important, an animal's life, or one of ours?"

"I know it's a risk, but what if it's harmless? Killing a big herbivore would do nothing but attract attention, right?"

Hoyte snorts, his knuckles most likely turning white underneath his gloves. He takes the lead, disappearing over the top of the bank.

"He needs to get a grip," Claire remarks, making Owen and Lowery smirk.

They move away from the river, taking a dirt path that has been too well maintained to just be made by thirsty animals. But what grabs Claire's attention are the footprints set in dried mud and odd fragments of tyre track. If one thing is for certain, they are heading the right way.

"So," Lowery breathes, taking a moment to catch his breath at the summit of the hill it took them too long to climb. "What's the plan when we get there?" He takes off his glasses and cleans them with the hem of his shirt.

"It depends what Hoyte wants, I guess," Claire replies, rotating her now slightly swollen ankle.

"Owen, any ideas?" Lowery asks.

"Nope. I mean…we have no idea what we're walking into. No intel, no blueprints, God knows what Wu's done during his six years here. He could've built a whole facility without anyone knowing."

"So…we could be walking into a trap?"

"He could already know we're here. I mean, he wasn't hired as the head of asset development for nothing. The man's not stupid. He's toying with us," Claire adds.

"Where'd you get that from?"

"Think about it, that Indominus clone didn't communicate with the raptor for a nice chat. They must understand each other, right? Like our one and Owen's raptors did to stop them killing it. Hoskins was all about making them obedient so what if Wu controls the raptor which talks to the Indominus?"

"How?"

"They made them, maybe screwed with their DNA more or just talked to them from birth. You can train a dog, why not a dinosaur?"

"He must've done both. Ours weren't exactly house trained, they knew what they were and did what we asked on occasion," Owen says. He adjusts the sling around his neck, his vision darkens at the edges for a moment before the pain subsides.

"This just keeps getting better and better, doesn't it?" Lowery complains.

"We're not going to buy their loyalty with a bit of meat on a stick. They're going to be loyal to their master…like the girls were to me," Owen manages to say through gritted teeth. "So, if we encounter another one, I think the best option is to put it down."

"Finally, we can actually shoot something," Hoyte interjects, moving in between Lowery and Claire. "Sorry, that was a little insensitive. I overheard what you three were talking about and I agree with Owen on this, and not because I'm trigger happy. It's the kindest thing, right? End their suffering and all?"

"But are they suffering? They don't know what they're doing," Claire asks.

"It's still no life for them though," Owen replies. "The sooner they're out of Wu's control, the better."

"In regards to the whole plan thing," Hoyte adds, "we've got some of the old plans for the buildings but they'll be long out of date. We're going to get in through the-"

Lowery clears his through loudly.

"What?"

"Let's not announce the plan to the entire forest," he whispers.

"To be honest, Cruthers, I doubt that they'd care which way we get in. Most likely they'll have either guards or dinos protecting them whichever way we enter. We go in via the ducts below the structure, taking out cameras as we go. Slowly moving until we reach the utility room and shut down the power. Once that's out, we hit the old laboratories and armoury at the same time. Secure those, then sweep the place out room by room."

"What happens if we don't find anything there?" Claire asks.

"We move on, supposing that this isn't a rouse," Hoyte answers.

"And if it is? That he's rigged the place and as soon as we step in the door…boom!" Lowery puts in.

Something shifts in Claire's stomach. She takes a breath, but it doesn't shift. Her hands close tighter, fingernails digging into her palms.

 _Don't let them know! Stop being weak!_

"Wu's all about creating life, he wouldn't be interested in killing us, right?"

"That didn't stop him back on Isla Nublar, did it?"

"Excuse me," Claire says, stepping away from the small circle.

"Claire?" Owen calls after her.

"Not now, Owen. Please, I just need a minute," she replies, striding deeper into the foliage than she wants too, but just far enough so that the campfire shrinks to a candle flame on the track.

The sickening feeling in her stomach subsides to an emptiness…

 _For God's sake, Claire, pull yourself out of it. You've dealt with things like this before. This is the second time you've done this! Just go back and face it!_

Her legs feel like lead.

 _Move! Come on, you can do this!_

Her feet are rooted to the ground.

 _What does Owen think of you now? Pull yourself together and go back._

The trees around her begin to merge into one another. The little light that filters through them blurs into a yellow haze.

 _I can't._

"Claire, where are you?" Owen, not so subtly, crashes through the vegetation. "Claire, please, you're scaring me! Where-"

He spots her elbow from behind a trunk.

"There you are, thank God!"

"Hey," she replies, running her fingers under her eyes and tilts her head down, hiding her reddened cheeks in the shadows.

"Are you okay? Things got kinda intense back there," he asks.

"Yeah, I'm good."

"Claire, if you want to tell me something, you can," he replies, crouching down next to her. His breathing becomes slightly hitched.

"Don't, Owen," she says. "I'm coming, okay? Let's go."

"It happened again, didn't it?"

"What? No, nothing happened."

He takes her hand and turns it over, "Then explain this." He wipes the blood away from the cuts on her hand. "Let's get these covered up before they become infected."

"They'll be fine, just got them earlier when I grabbed the thorny end of a branch."

"Claire…if something's wrong then-"

"Owen, please, just leave it. I can't explain it, okay? Let's just go."

"Don't shut me out," he replies.

"I…"

"For survival, right? We're in this together no matter what, I've told you this. I l…." One side of his mouth twitches upwards. "I love you, Claire Dearing. Even after leaving me for six years, even when you're being stubborn as hell or badass in your own special way. I love the way you look at me, even when you're pissed with me, and this is gonna sound cliché as hell, but I get flutters in my chest just by being close to you. I wanna be there for you, even when these feelings are creeping in, because I get 'em too and they're difficult to deal at the best of times.

Now, we can turn around right now. We could leave this island and never come back, but you're not one to give up. You know that and so do I, so let's finish this. We keep saying it and eventually, we will beat this and put all of this crap behind us for the final time."

She stares at him, her hand shaking in his. His thumb begins to gently circle in the centre of her palm.

"I promise you that I'll never leave your side, okay? I'm here till the end," he smiles, eyes drifting for a moment as raindrops begin to hit the foliage around them.

"For survival," she repeats, gently pulling him closer and wrapping an arm around him, carefully avoiding his broken shoulder.

For a moment, the sounds and smells of the island that surround her disappear. All she can smell is his pungent body odour, a perfume mainly consisting of sweat. She can feel his overgrown beard scratching her ear, the rough material of his shirt grazing her chin, the steady hand on her back that keeps her steady. The steady beat of his pulse helps calm her own.

And for the first time in such a long time, she's home.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20.**

"This'd be a lot easier with night vision goggles," Lowery says, "or torches. Something to tell us where we are, where we're headed or just so we could actually see where we're putting our feet, y'know. God knows how many piles of crap we've stepped in, or if there have been traps set up for us around the compound."

His comments are met with silence.

"I just thought, dangerous mission and all, that Root'd give us some untraceable tech to use in a situation like this. But no, nothing to actually keep us safe."

Something splashes up his right trouser leg; the same cold liquid seeps into his boot.

"Oh great."

"Kinda losing the element of surprise with you here, Lowery. Any chance you could shut up for a minute?" Hoyte replies, his tone slightly lighter than before.

"How can you tell we're not going to walk off a cliff right about now?"

"Because I'm actually paying attention to my surroundings and-"

 _Click…click click._

"Wha-" Lowery begins, but stops when a foul stench is blown over his face.

She stares at him, her eye catching the silver light of the moon overhead.

"Hi," he whimpers.

"Don't move," Hoyte tells him, his eyes unwavering from a second pursuer.

The first towers over Lowery; from the images of Owen and his girls he'd seen on his screens over the years, he'd never thought that, face-to-face, they'd be so tall.

"Wow, you're a big girl, and that's the last time that I'll ever say that on a first encounter," Lowery jokes, his fingernails faintly scratch against his jeans.

"Shut up!" Hoyte barks.

The second jumps forward, snapping at Hoyte's forearm. Lowery's raptor squeals at her companion, who, after a few seconds, releases Hoyte from its grip. The taller of the pair returns to look over Lowery.

"Hey." Lowery slowy raises his arms, "it's okay. It's alright, we're not going to hurt you."

The raptor tilts her head slightly.

"You get me, right?" He grimaces, "you can understand me a bit, at least?"

"What are you doing?"

"They're smart creatures, much smarter than us. They might understand that we men them no harm."

"We didn't until this one bit me," Hoyte replies through gritted teeth.

"Owen's lot could take orders, maybe these one's are like them, or a bit more intelligent. He named his lot so…Foxtrot?"

The creature continues to stare at him, making chirping noises that he'd never heard Owen's four ever make.

"It's not a goddamn pet, man!"

"I know, but if we're cool with it, then it'll be cool with us."

"And your reasoning for that is?"

"We're not a threat, they know that. They were following us before, only now they've cornered us. Why?"

"There's only two of us here?"

"Possibly, or because we're close to the compound that they've been trained to patrol."

"I swear this sounds ridiculous."

"It does, but six years of innovation made flip cell phones into smart ones; what if Owen's were mark one." Lowery's hands stop shaking.

"So what's your genius idea of getting out of this alive? Excluding making friends with it."

"To be honest, that was my only plan…apart from Owen's idea to, y'know…" His eyes indicate the vile stench coming from their jackets.

"Why was I stuck with you?" Hoyte tightens his grip on his forearm, sharply inhaling as he attempts to stem the bleeding.

"Pure luck?"

"Luck has nothing to do with it," Hoyte scoffs. "Why don't they just go? We smell like them so we're not a threat, right? Owen was sure that this would work."

Foxtrot stretches forward, her snout rubs up against Lowery's sleeve. He remains stationary, watching her fluid movements as she moves to his shirt, then his trouser leg.

"That's it, we're no threat. You figure me out, Foxy. You're good."

She pauses and tilts her head up, her golden eyes catching his in the moonlight.

"Seriously?"

"She's not killing us, so that's a plus," Lowery clamly states. "She's the alpha here, yours won't do anything without Foxy's permission. Keep her calm will keep 'em both from chewing on our innards. If we keep them occupied long enough, then the others can sneak through too."

Foxtrot rises her head, clicking to her companion.

"You think she understood that?"

"I hope not," Lowery squeaks, earning a tilt of the head from his raptor. "Good thing we wiped that raptor shit our clothes before, right?"

Owen was all too happy to help with the application of manure as well, though Claire just smirked behind him.

The bark of another creature diverts Foxtrot's attention; she turns to look at something in the bushes nearby.

"Crap! You think they've been found?"

"Let's hope not."

The stench of rotten leaves and flesh is carried out of the service tunnel by current of water. Owen leans into the pipe, using their caveman era torch to scout out their entrance to the compound.

"Looks like it goes on for a while before we'll come across any doors for maintenance," he reports. "Strong current too so we'll have to watch ourselves." He moves the torch left and right, scorching some of the vines and weeds that have spread along the tunnel walls. "No grating either so the only way through is wading through that."

"At least it'll wash off our scent so nothing can track us, right?" Claire asks.

"Yeah, but we're likely to get hypothermia if we stay in it too long," the medic adds.

"So we speed run it?" Owen suggests, "but it's gonna be slippery underfoot."

"Let's just get it over and done with," Claire replies, taking a few steps towards Owen, "and you'd better be careful." She lightly touches his left arm. "One slip could make your injury a lot worse."

"I will." He smiles briefly in reply.

She takes the torch from his hand and climbs up into the concrete pipe. Her hand instantly clamps over her mouth and nose. _I will not throw up now!_ Slowly, she removes her palm from her lips and she slowly acclimatizes to a new stench, curtesy of death. It's been six years since she had last encountered an odour as vile as this, but this time, it's not going to overpower her. She passes the torch to her free hand and wipes her palm on her jeans. _I can do this._

The water soon passes their ankles, a freezing torrent that soon turns their feet numb. Claire's grateful for the brief respite from the pain of a twisted ankle; however, Hoyte's men seem less than impressed.

"Bloody freezin'," one moans. "These are me best boots, suppose t' be waterproof!"

In the fiery light of the torch, Claire sees Owen's eyes roll and a smile twitch at his lips. His warm fingers thread between hers. Her stomach begins to feel strange, but not the sickening feeling one that she has grown accustomed to over the years.

 _Butterflies…he gives me butterflies…_ She smiles at the thought.

The light from the flame licks the walls of the tunnel, until the walls give way to darkness.

"Well, this wasn't on the blueprints," Owen half smiles, but Claire can hear the concern in his voice.

The rest of the group crowd up behind them, using the light to assess the situation.

"Anyone got a flare?"

"Do we 'eck! Hoyte got rid of all of 'em! Told us not to bother."

"Oh shut up, Pete!" Another of Hoyte's men sighs, unzipping his backpack and handing Claire the red tube. "Not all of us wanna follow that jerk…don't tell 'im I said that."

She hands the torch to Owen, removes one of the flare's caps and then the other. One sharp tug to the string at the bottom and they are blinded by a bright red light. For a moment, thick smoke surrounds them, making it hard to breathe.

When the air around them clears, they vaguely make out the perimeters of the room they are in. A walkway, only partly visible under the water, cuts the first half of the room in two, extending to a single ladder in the middle of the sewer. Six pipes, three on each side, pump more water into the room.

"Well…this is a lot bet-" someone at the back of the group starts before she is interrupted by a low growl. "Never mind," she quickly adds.

"Oh God."

The water ripples in the red glow of the torch.

"What was that?" Owen asks, his voice barely audible.

"Run," Claire instructs. She strides onto the makeshift pathway, looks back for a moment before running with the torch towards the ladder. Over the beat of her pulse in her ears, she hears the water being disturbed on both sides. But she keeps running.

The temptation to stop and look to see if the others are following almost stops her dead in her tracks, but she couldn't, the ladder grows closer and closer…the others must be right behind her.

There's a red glow behind her, followed with a cacophony of roars and gunfire. She almost collides with the ladder, quickly grabbing a slimy rung and pulls herself up a few feet. The water lapping at the bottom of the poles quickly turns red.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21.**

The heat of the torch begins to burn her skin as her hand quivers. She gulps, twisting her hand on the slimy rung to keep her grip. Slowly, she lowers the flame down, accidently frying a couple of loose strands of her plaid shirt. The crimson water is pushed away by a tide – something is coming.

"Owen?" she whispers; she pushes the instant thought out of her mind as she stares at the red pool below.

"We're good," Owen calls, moving into the spotlight given off by the flames.

She breathes a sigh of relief. "Thank God," she replies, stepping down to a lower rung.

"No no, keep going up. Who knows when they'll be back."

"When what'll…?"

"Err…" He shakes his head, quickly turning away and facing back down the tunnel. The flame plays with the shadows on his face; in the fiery red light, she can see the concern pass over his face.

"No idea what the hell they were but they weren't pretty. Like…err, but…a lot worse. He shakes his head again. "Keep going up, we're right behind you."

"Is everyone alright?"

He pauses and looks over his shoulder. "Yeah…we're all good. Could you?" He motions for her to climb. His eyes are wide. Too wide.

"Owen, has some-"

"Claire, please," he interjects. "We need to move _now_." His voice is a little higher, she notes. _He's scared_.

She obeys, scrambling up the ladder. Owen takes his time; he grabs the side of the ladder, setting his feet on the edges of the one below before sliding a hand up and taking it a step at the time. At the top, he wipes the sludge on his palms onto his jeans, leaving green streaks on his thighs.

Claire holds out the torch, illuminating the narrow corridor for a moment before someone flicks a switch. Above them, several fluorescent lights turn on, sending white light further down the tunnel. They buzz and flicker for a moment, before the light grows stronger, allowing them to view the cracks in the cinderblocks and piles of disintegrating crates.

"What the hell were they?" Claire asks Owen.

One by one, Hoyte's group climbs from the hole in the floor into the narrow corridor. They move into single file along the way removing their empty or mostly empty clips and replacing them.

"Owen, what were they?" she repeats; clearing her throat as if to shrug off that slight waiver in her voice. The one that makes her want to start rebuilding the walls in her mind to keep out thoughts that would certainly not help her here.

"Crocodiles of some sort," the medic answers, "it's like Wu's resorted to making more primitive beings for security via that tunnel." She grimaces, before tending to a wound on one of her colleague's leg. He winces as she wraps the wound in gauze and thin bandages.

"I saw…the blood," she turns to the queue, mentally counting the number of heads.

"They were tough." One of them meets her eye for a moment, before shifting to something invisible on the wall behind her. "They took a few hits before going down," he trails off.

"We had no choice," another adds, removing the clip from her weapon.

Claire turns back to Owen. "You killed them all?"

He shakes his head, a numb feeling rises from his stomach. "Some were too far away; they were the lucky ones."

"Owen…I…" she pauses, unsure what to tell him.

 _I've done it again; I ran from him…again._ It hadn't crossed her mind at all; fear took a hold of her and she panicked. In six years, she hadn't changed at all.

"Can I have a word?" he replies, gesturing down the hall.

She nods, moving down the corridor with him so close behind her that her hair shifts under his breath. The move around a corner, finding some privacy in a dark corner behind a few old crates.

"Don't do that again," he begins, shifting the strap on his makeshift sling. "Please never run away from me." He slowly leans his good shoulder against the moss coloured wall and slowly lowers himself to the floor; his legs bridging the gap between the two walls.

"I'm sorry…I don't know what happened, I just…" she pauses, lowering herself into the space beside him; she places the torch away from them and the boxes.

 _I just thought of myself._

"Owen, I panicked." It's not a great excuse, but the truth she owed him nonetheless.

They subside into the silence, hearing the clicking and grinding metal of the weapons around the corner. Owen's breaths become slower as he is finally able to catch his breath. For a moment, the silence allows Claire to centre herself; the rough feel of concrete beneath her fingers, the smell of rotten wood, the steadying pulse of the man beside her.

"You still have that pistol?" he asks, taking louder breaths as the pain begins to knead at his shoulder again.

"Yeah, here," she replies, leaning forward to ease it out from underneath her waistband. She holds it out to him.

"No, I can't," he says, pushing it back towards her. "From now on, keep it out. We don't know these tunnels and who knows what else we're gonna face down here…just don't run, please."

She swallows. He notices her take a few steady breaths whilst adjusting the weapon in her hand. Her forefinger lingers over the trigger for a moment, before she moves to check the safety.

"Time to go," someone calls. "Head north then next ri…left, according to these blueprints."

"We'd better…I'd better…" she excuses herself, placing the gun beside her before getting up. She picks up the torch and weapon before turning to face him.

He could swear that he could see some copper streaks in her hair reflecting the light of the flame.

"Are you coming?"

"Yeah, just give me a minute," he replies, smiling awkwardly at her.

She nods, before moving away and giving him some space to manoeuvre.

She ran.

He knows that it was a normal response in that situation, after all, who'd want to stick around with those things about? But it didn't stop his heart missing a couple of beats as she took off like an Olympic torch bearer away from him. He told her that he loved her and she just stared at him before they were interrupted and told that the group was moving.

 _And now things are awkward…because she said nothing..._

He struggles to rise to his feet; taking a few moments at each stage to catch his breath and wait out the pain with gritted teeth.

 _No! That's not her fault! Why am I blaming her for that? She's not ready, that's all. She cares about me as much as I care about her. We've had setbacks. Setbacks that would've broke any other couple. But we're going to make it._

He finally manages to stand upright, lifting the makeshift sling for a final time to relieve the pressure on his injured shoulder.

 _We're survivors. Always have been._

Finally reunited with the group, they head around the corner into yet another narrow corridor, Owen catches sight of her amongst the Hoyte's people, the pistol clasped between her hands. Working lights become a rarity as more and more burnt out or cracked strobe lights adorn the ceilings. They move at a fair pace, avoiding scattered boxes and empty trays littered down the alley. Their thick soles crush small animal bones into small pieces; long dead rodents that never escaped the maze they find themselves in.

"Woah, hold on," Sophie's voice carries over the sound of footfalls and bounces off the cinderblock walls.

The group comes to a sudden halt. Sophie steps forward; she points to her eye, and then to the wall thirty or so feet head of them where the tunnel grows dark.

"We're being watched."

Owen follows her line of sight, catching a glimpse of a small red light blinking behind the lens of a camera.

"If InGen can afford good ones, it's likely that they've already seen us," Owen murmurs.

"But if they haven't, we need to take it out," Sophie responds.

One of Hoyte's men lifts his silenced rifle; he holds it against his shoulder, his chest barely moves.

The camera shatters into several pieces and falls to the ground. The shooter exhales quickly.

"Okay, let's go."

They shuffle in pairs down the corridor, stepping on the shards and grinding it into glitter on the concrete floor. The next corner leads to a small alcove and a dead end.

"Stairs, it is," Sophie sighs, "cover me."

The group takes a couple of steps back; two rifles are raised at the front. Sophie takes the lead, reaching for the door handle. Slowly, she pushes it down; the mechanism inside squeals as if it had never been oiled. She yanks it backwards, revealing a dimly lit stairwell.

Two by two, they make their way up one flight, and then another, and then another with still no exit in sight. Owen loses count of how many flights before they find another door with a wire frame over the large glass panel. Again, Sophie takes position to open the exit. But she's stops reaching for the handle and retreats back to the group.

"What is it?"

"Something's on the other side," she whispers, bringing up her own shotgun.

The handle is pushed down, rusted metal grinding against rusted metal. The door flies open, sending a cloud of dust into the air from the wall.

"What the-?"

"Woah! Don't shoot! Don't shoot!" Lowery begs, hands up like a criminal caught in the act.

 **A/N:** Sorry for the very, very late update. This one was a toughie. I've had writer's block, moved house twice, had the start of a new term at uni and two part-time jobs. It's been a hell of a few months but should be back to writing and (hopefully) finishing this in the next few chapters. Love to know what you all think!

Thanks,

Lukascovitz. ;)


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22.**

"Control room's just down there," Lowery points down the hallway to a dark blue door. "We took out the guards and've put them in a storage room."

"Define 'took out'," Owen replies, raising an eyebrow.

Hoyte lifts his weapon, angles it down and shoves the butt into an imaginary guard in front of him. He winces, sucking in air before moving his injured arm back to his chest.

"What happened to you?"

"We got ambushed; one of them took a bite out of me, must've been because she thought I was the more dangerous one."

"Hey!" Lowery turns to Hoyte, looking him up and down before doing the same to himself. "Okay, fair enough, but I was the one to calm them down. I remembered what you used to do with your girls and applied in a real world situation. It worked pretty well."

"Alright," Hoyte chimes in, rolling his eyes. "You're getting too big for your boots. Once they figured out we weren't a threat to them, they left us too it. Dunno if they were ordered to do that, let us in the front door, so to speak. Either it's a trap or Wu's really getting lazy when it comes to security."

"No way," Owen replies. "He's got sponsors lining up at the door; he's definitely not got a shortage of funds. He knows that we're here, he's probably watching us right now."

"We have the control room," Hoyte says.

"Yeah, but there's no way he'd make it that easy to infiltrate this place. There's gotta be another room holding the cameras."

"So we go in search of that?" Hoyte asks.

He looks over Owen's shoulder, finding his team in the dim lighting of the corridor. They sit on the floor, many with their eyes closed.

"We're in the belly of the beast," he adds, lowering his voice. "We can't stop now. As much as I want to rest everyone up, we've gotta keep moving."

"Weren't we supposed to be meeting up with another team at some point?" Lowery asks, using a tissue to wipe mud and God knows what off his face.

"Yeah, but we've received no contact from them. We were supposed to be meeting them here…" he trails off.

"So, they're dead?" Owen asks.

"Let's not jump to conclusions just yet," Hoyte responds, tightening the makeshift bandage on his arm. "They're…MIA. Could be that they broke down on the river, and that they're still on foot. Reports said that there would be a crane across the river, something about the people here before us running into a spinosaurus or something like that."

A sick feeling niggles at Owen's stomach.

"I thought we'd have more firepower than this," Owen says, gripping the inside of his jeans pocket.

"So did I," Hoyte agrees, "this isn't the most ideal situation that we're in. But we're here to capture Wu and shut this place down. That's it."

Owen turns slightly but enough to see Hoyte's people and Claire, who sits at the end with the pistol in her hands. He turns back to Hoyte.

"This is a massive risk; even if we try to bluff that we have more people on the way."

"It's one that we're gonna have to take, but first, we need to find that second security room, and God knows where that is."

"We're just gonna have to take it one room at a time."

"That'll take too much time," Lowery points out. "If I had a drone, then-"

"But you don't!" Owen snaps. His voice echoes down the corridor making everyone stare at him.

"I was only saying if I did then I could've used infrared to search for heat signatures," Lowery replies.

"Sorry, I just need-" Owen begins, "we just need to move and get this over and done with."

"Don't let it get to you," Hoyte tells him.

Owen shakes his head. _It's not that easy._

"We just need a plan, and then we need to move," Owen replies. "If we stay here any longer, the worse it's going to get."

"What do you mean ' _it_ '?"

Owen stares at him blankly; admitting that _it_ exists makes him feel weaker – as if he needs reminding.

"Nothing," he replies, trying to quash that feeling in his stomach; that familiar feeling of having little control, like being heavily drunk but without touching a drop of alcohol. Ironically, the only way to make _it_ stop was to spend the night with his best friends, _Jack Daniels_ and _Jose Cuervo._

His good hand slips into his pocket, then out again, finally settling on hooking his thumb on the edge.

Lowery turns to Hoyte, then back to Owen.

"So, the plan," the techie begins, "errm, where do we start?"

"Blueprints," Hoyte replies, waving over a member of his time.

For what feels like the eighteenth or nineteenth time, they walk in pairs down a grey corridor with tube lighting distributing a pale glow on its occupants.

Claire stays close to Owen, finding comfort in his company. She holds the pistol out ahead of her, which only seems to be getting heavier with every turn that they take in the maze of corridors.

"Anyone else sick of cinderblock alleyways?" Lowery asks, chuckling to himself when no-one else joins in. He coughs for a moment, then stops walking as it becomes more violent.

Hoyte snorts, before he begins to violently cough.

They all pause; Owen moves to his side, and Claire absently follows.

"Water…I need wa-ter," he wheezes, before coughing like crazy again.

A canteen is passed along the line to him; he grabs it, pulls off the stopper before glugging it down as fast as possible.

Claire holsters her pistol under Owen's hoodie, securing it under the belt at the small of her back.

"I didn't know it was that funny," Lowery comments.

"Hold on," one of Hoyte's men calls out, "can anyone else here that?"

The party pauses, and only now can they hear something faint between Hoyte's erratic coughing fits.

"I can't here anything," Claire replies, moving closer to Owen.

The noise grows louder; an expert didn't need to tell Claire what awaited them around the bend, she knew that noise all too well from the _incident_ six years ago.

Owen's breathing begins to quicken; she notices his hands clasp tightly in on themselves. If he wasn't careful, he'd leave nasty gashes on his palms.

 _He's losing control._

She quickly grabs his hand, prying his fingers open to let her in.

"We're okay," she tells him under her breath.

At first, she didn't think that he'd heard her, but he briefly squeezes her hand.

His breathing steadies slightly, but she knows that they're losing control of the situation. Something tickles the back of her throat, she tries to ignore it, but it only gets worse. Owen's face reddens too. The feeling gets worse, intensifying the pain in her ankle and sore muscles; it made her want to run away…but they are in the thick of it, and unlike the past six years of her life, she can't just leave.

Hoyte's men begin to cough too; keeling over as they struggle to breathe.

 _You're happy and doing something that you've never done before. And you're there because you survived._

Owen's words of encouragement find her amongst the onslaught of everything: the ache of muscle, the throbbing of her ankle but through the haze that's taking over her mind.

 _Come on, Claire! You're a smart woman! Think of something!_

She needed to run away before, but with a renewed sense of life…for survival, she squeezes his hand three times – she hopes that he knows what that means, before letting go and covering her mouth with the other arm. As she makes her way down the corridor, she picks up Hoyte's pistol. With every step, she feels the fear melt away, the feeling of relying on self-pity and obsession dissolve as she moves around the corner and comes face to face with Wu's creation.

The raptor clicks at her, cocking its head as she rises the gun.

 _This is no life for you._

She pulls the trigger. It drops with a heavy thud.

Her ears begin to ring as the narrow corridor reverberates with the explosion of gunpowder.

"Drop the weapon!"

For a moment, she thinks that she's hearing things, before men in all black storm into the corridor, their faces hidden by gas masks. The pistol falls from her loose grip and clatters on the poured concrete floor.

"Hands where we can see them!"

She obeys, carefully not lifting her arms too high to reveal the pistol still tucked into her waistband. One of the clones grabs her wrists and uses a zip tie to bind them together in front of her.

"Stop pumping the gas, most of them're out anyway," another one of them says.

"C'mon, move!" The same man shoves Claire forward. "Do you know how much that cost?!" he says, moving her past the raptor.

 _All too well._ But maybe telling them that would not be the best idea.

"Don't worry, Wu can tell 'er," someone else shouts.

"Don't forget the others," the first man replies, "no one's to be left alone! But this one can go straight to Wu."

Claire's pushed forward in to a stairwell, she almost collides into the iron railings.

"Wait! There's someone else Wu will want to see!" she protests, turning around and heading back out into the corridor.

"Don't care," he replies, adding a shrug as if to exaggerate his point.

"No, seriously," she tells him, as he begins to shove her up the first few steps.

"Lady, I couldn't give a shit. Now be a good girl and move!"

She lashes out, kicking out and catching his leg behind her. He stumbles and falls down the stairs, smacking into the wall. After a few seconds, she turns around to see him slumped against the wall at the foot of a long bloody streak down the bricks.

"Oh shit!"


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23.**

For a moment, she can't move; can't breathe.

 _With the number of deaths totalling 783…_ she'd added another one, another person caught in the crossfire between her and InGen. The other guy said she was going straight to Wu; looking up the stairs, she sees the dingy steps spiralling upwards to meet a much darker creator of life. The more decrepit ascension seemed more fitting, really.

But first, she needs to prepare herself; going back would achieve nothing: Owen would be fine, she has to tell her self. _He'll be fine and we'll see each other after this is over._

She takes a seat at the foot of the stairs and leans forward to untie her laces. _Thank God the moron didn't tie my hands behind me._ She threads a lace between her wrists and the plastic tie, before biting the end and pulling it through. Then, she ties it with a lace from the opposite shoe, knotting it twice, before pulling. Slowly, the grip on her wrists loosens, and it becomes wide enough to take off.

She smiles at her success, backing up to rest her back on the next step. The pistol presses into her lower back, reminding her that she's not out of danger. She takes a breath before sorting herself out and removing the gun from its hiding spot. At once, she begins to search the guy for anything useful to take; the gas mask hides his face, so it makes sense: she strips him of his overalls and shoves them over her jeans, t-shirt and hoody. The body armour and gas mask comes next, before the helmet. The boots, although too big, are pulled on and the laces are tightened to within an inch of braking.

She starts to climb the stairs although her ankle protests.

The smell thankfully gets better the further she climbs, a million times better from the sewer they entered through; although the danger has not disappeared. She carefully places one foot in front of the other, listening out for anyone else who may be taking the same route to Wu, which becomes increasingly harder to hear over the hum of generators.

 _I could take one of them out,_ she considers, _but on an island of dinosaurs, how many people with guns would they send?_

She passes one of the generator rooms before hitting a dead end; one door between a busy hallway and her. She slowly peeks through the wired window, watching a couple of women clad in all black pass by. Two minutes later, the same two women pass by again. No one else appears. They walked the same way, so it must be a loop of some kind, but did they turn straight away? Would she be caught as soon as they passed again? Was the door even open? She places a hand on the handle, pulling down ever so slightly. The lock's tongue moves; there was someone looking out for her. She lets go, waiting for them to pass again.

They do, another four minutes later.

 _Shit! Missed it!_

She waits for them another three times, waiting behind the door and keeping as quiet as possible. Two, two, almost four.

 _Rushing it would be stupid, got to keep my head. Got to make this count._

She takes off the mask and takes in deeps breaths, slowly clenching her hands open and closed to stop them shaking. The too big uniform would give her away if they had a real good look at her.

The second two minute lap comes around; they pass, she waits for thirty seconds, before slowly creeping the door open. No alarms…nothing. She takes a breath before striding into the hallway, making herself seem purposeful as she moves down the hallway. She passes two doors on her right; and as she rounds the corner, there is a large window with wired glass showcasing a plethora of black and white CCTV cameras being watched by three guards.

The rest of the lap is similar, some other guards give her funny looks, but none of them approach her. She finds a similar door to the one she left before, and praying to her guardian angel, opens it to find another staircase. She breathes a sigh of relief before climbing the flight until she bumps into another, clad in all black and holding a rifle.

"Where are you going," the woman begins, before looking at the tag on her body armour, "Davids?"

 _Shit! Think, Claire!_

"I…err…was on my way to secure hostages," she replies. "They were found in the tunnels near the sewer entrance and I was told that there was one who had escaped?"

"And who was relieving you of your current duty?"

"Smith," she guesses.

"Which one?"

"Mark," she replies, pulling at straws; she tries to channel her past self, hoping that some form of confidence would help if she was wrong.

"The commander?"

"Yes." She breaths a very short sigh of relief, "I was told by the commander to go and search for that missing hostage and make sure that the others were secure."

The woman cocks her head to the side. "Now why would a high ranking military man send a private for this? Surely he would attend to this personally."

"Well, why send himself when he can send a grunt? He was worried."

"Worried about what?"

"How it'd look if he lost that escapee; that way if I go, I'm the one who gets the blame, not him," she replies, sounding like her old self. She'd used that technique a number of times with her own people. The memory makes something pinch her stomach; she wasn't that business driven person anymore.

"I see," the woman replies, before moving aside.

Claire nods, before continuing up the stairs. She wipes away a bead of sweat as soon as she is out of sight. She hates that feeling, any thought about her past self makes her want to shudder.

 _Can't think about that right now. I've got to find them, to find Owen._

She passes a few more grunts on the stairs before exiting on the next floor. Her boots fall onto linoleum flooring as she enters the corridor. There are too many people around to search for her friends; constantly looking at faces and into rooms is bound to get her noticed. Before continuing, she slides the pistol into her belt and purposefully heads down past various open plan rooms, a break room with a sink and vending machines and a lab not too dissimilar from those back on Isla Nublar.

Around another corner is yet another corridor, lined with LED screens in mahogany style picture frames; each contains a hybrid of some sort with a blend of names: Tyranaraptor, Stegosaurus Rex, Indoraptor and, most famous of all, Indominus Rex. The skeletal outline spins in a circle…but it seems a little _off_.

Claire tilts her head slightly at the image.

 _It's arms are too short. Why the hell would it have shorter arms?_

The skeleton morphs into a smaller version, leaving the grey outline of the first behind.

 _It's arms are still too short._

A third one appears on screen: Mk. 3. A perfect match for the monster that ruined her life.

 _She wasn't the first one…InGen have been making them for years, they just gave us one like it was the latest car model: the most expensive. Masrani asked for "more teeth" and Wu just sold her to him._

 _That's why he was calm when his lab found out about the escape and they cleared out. They got to see what their monster could do in a real world situation and they got away with it._

She unclenches her hands and steps away into the cooling breeze of an AC unit. It snaps her back to reality; she has to get out of sight, has to find Owen and get the hell out of there.

That guy mentioned taking her straight to Wu, but Owen, Lowery and the others were incapacitated; they'd be taken elsewhere. They had to be.

 _Why though? Why would Wu want me instead of them?_ _It's only be a matter of time before they realise that one of the intruders is missing, or that one of their own is dead._

She has to move, to get out of sight before she's discovered in a dead man's uniform. But where was she to go? Since they entered underground, she's lost track of what floor that she's on, and in an evil lair type place, she doubts that they'll have a directory just hanging near an elevator. Asking would just raise more questions unless she posed as a newbie.

 _No, I have to figure this out,_ she concludes. _I'm okay, I'm armed; I just need to keep calm and…_

Her mind flashes back to the boat, to his hand on hers, and then to the image she saw in Owen's imaginary, time travelling mirror. She will make it out alive, if not to prove that to herself that she can survive this again, but for a chance at a semi-normal life with him.

 **A/N:** this one has been many months in the making. Too many excuses to mention but with the new film out in under a day (UK time), I got back into reading other fics before breaking that dreaded writer's block and writing again. I apologise for the absence but uni…y'know?

As always, I appreciate every view this fanfic gets,

Yours,

Lukascovitz ;)


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24.**

 _God, something stinks! What the hell is that?_

Owen's eyes slowly open; he's met with complete darkness until his eyes become accustomed to the very dim lighting and the shiny jet black scales less than a meter from his face.

"What the?" he gasps, shuffling back with one hand tied behind him. A wall halts his movement. The creature takes a small step forward, constantly sniffing him and making guttural noises to itself.

"Easy, easy," he says, in an attempt to calm it.

 _This has to be a dream,_ he tells himself. He tries to move his good arm, but it seems to be ziptied to the back of his belt. His makeshift sling has a chain of two ties, which connects to a belt loop on the front of his jeans.

"Lowery? Hoyte?" he calls out. "Anyone?

The creature, if sensing his distress, looks left and right before taking another small step forward, its muzzle pressing itself against his body. Owen feels its heated breaths and canines through the fabric of his shirt. The pressure almost crushes his arm against his chest.

"Easy, easy," he repeats, although it comes out as a whisper.

 _Buzzzzzz!_ A flashing red light appears, before larger white lights flicker on. The creature takes a step back. Owen gasps for air, coughing as it retreats to an opening set of bars on the other side. The animal pauses, giving him one final look, before disappearing though a concrete arch.

"What do you think of her?" someone asks.

Owen turns to his right to find a man in a lab coat perched on a high ledge.

"What…what is that thing?"

He stands, a smug smile creeps onto his face.

"They haven't named it yet, not officially anyway, but she's one of our prototypes for the new generation."

"New generation? What the hell are you talking about?" Owen replies. He presses himself against the wall, using it to brace himself and get to his feet. His eyes move around the room, attempting to find any way of escape, excluding the large hole that that _thing_ just left through. The man's platform has a door, but it's too high up for him to reach, even if he wasn't bound or injured.

"New gen, like the next generation. People need new attractions, since _Jurassic World_ made looking at a dinosaur like going to see the elephants at the city zoo. No, we're on the cusp of greatness, of refining genes to the tee so that our customers get exactly what they want. That there was just one of our prototypes developed for a certain clientele."

"Just looked like a messed up raptor to me," Owen replies.

"Well, she is part raptor but-"

"Let me guess, the rest is classified?"

The man looks at him wide eyed, as if he just swallowed a sour grape.

"So what would a person want with that? Certainly not a house pet."

"No, she's a killing machine; designed to have no weaknesses, no flaws. She's perfect for one of those covert operations our governments love so much."

"And you just brew one up in a test tube to sell to the highest bidder?"

"No, we send out packs; they check what they want and we do our best to accommodate to their needs."

"So like dial-a-dino, so to speak?"

"You make us sound like common drug dealers, Mr Grady! We are far from that!"

Owen smirks; he loves to toy with egotistical men. Hoskins was his target for a while, but he became predictable and boring. On the other hand, this guy is a whole new kettle of fish; he'd learnt a long time ago that arrogant men blabber too much. He needed intel quick and this guy has been served to him on a silver platter.

"So that's what happens round here? You get your orders, get paid and then become mother nature?"

"I guess you could put it like that," he responds, placing a hand in his lab coat pocket. "I work with them day in, day out; behaviourist, you see. I make sure that I iron out their flaws before we ship them off. You and your friends have been very helpful training partners for my girl in there." He points to the tunnel, before wiping his nose on the back of his sleeve. "She only got a few of them before she got the hint."

"And how'd you do that? I assume that she doesn't respond to a clicker."

"No, but electricity has amazing capabilities for obedience training, don't you think?"

 _Idiot. That animal is not going to be sane by the time it gets out of here._

"Wouldn't know." He shrugs with his good shoulder. "I didn't do that to my girls."

"I heard, and how did that work out for you? Three dead, one nearly killing you and hurting maybe a dozen more?"

 _Three dead? So they have no connections with Isla Nublar, maybe they have no idea about Carbine._

"And how many people will that thing kill?"

"Who knows? But they will be confirmed targets, not innocent people. War is profitable, Mr Grady, that's why it will never stop. One side will get a weapon, then the other will make a bigger one and so forth until countries are torn apart."

"And you can live with that, suppling these weapons to both sides, I take it?"

"The rich or inventive will profit; it's not survival of the fittest anymore, Mr Grady, it's survival of the richest."

"Well, if I ever come across one when I get out of here, I'll be sure wave a wad of bills in its face. Maybe I can buy its loyalty."

The man snorts at him. "And that is why you'll lose. Small minded people like you will always fail to see the bigger picture. These animals could protect the everyday citizen, protect borders, seek out people in hiding and kill them, not just taking lives, but saving them too."

"Keep telling yourself that, buddy. At the end of the day, we're all animals; we all need to eat and sleep and…" he pumps his fist behind him. "You release that thing into the wild, it doesn't matter who's house it sleeps in or who pays for its food; it'll eat them, their family and their neighbours until its satisfied."

"That is our final goal though, complete obedience."

"Best get working on some convincing animatronics then; the only thing that looks like an animal and is completely submissive to a person will be made up of wires and need charging on a daily basis."

"You know, I think you need a complete demonstration, maybe then you'll be convinced of our achievement."

He moves away from the edge to a console and presses a few keys. Owen's heart begins to pump faster. A bright green light flickers on a few feet above him. He can feel every footstep; hear every snort over the thump of his pulse in his ears; and before long, he can smell its rancid breath.

The man looks over his shoulder at Owen smirking.

"Any last words?"

Owen tries to turn to him and look him in the eye, but his gaze never moves from the head of the creature.

"Go to hell," he tries to reply, but his words come out in a whisper.

He retreats, pressing his hand flat against the concrete wall. Of all the things that he had been through, he never thought that this would be his end. He'd always been optimistic; even when in the Navy in hostile environments or on Isla Nublar six years ago. He never considered that he would meet his end so early in life.

 _But if it's my time,_ he tells himself, _I'm going to go out fighting._

He lifts a foot and places the sole against the wall, one chance to push off and dodge this creature; he had to fight.

The man on the ledge presses another button, making a siren blare out of speakers three times. The creature looks up for a moment, before its eyes fall on Owen. He gulps, before pushing off the wall, sprinting at it head on.

It gets closer and closer until he duck and skids along the floor, sliding under its stomach until it shifts a leg, hitting him in the chest. He cries out as his momentum slows and he grinds to a halt.

"You thought that you could just get away like that?" the man laughs. "This is the most advanced weapon in the world, created by one of the most advanced minds of this generation; it's over, Mr Grady. Accept your fate now, whilst you still have some dignity left!"

The creature turns back to Owen, making those calls again. Stuck on the ground, with no way of getting up and nowhere to hide; he takes a deep breath.

"So this is it?"

He'd had a good run, all things considered. He hadn't ticked off all of his bucket list – some of that highly depended on someone else – but he has seen the world, worked with raptors, and not many people can say that. He'd fought, but this time, he'd lost.

The man's smile widens as he reaches for the button again.

Owen closes his eyes; taking in everything, the foul smell of the creature, the darkness surrounding him, his skin burning from grinding against the floor, a single _puh!_ noise.


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25.**

Owen holds his breath.

 _What was that?_

He opens his eyes to see the man hanging over the railing, a growing red stain travels down his pristine coat until it reaches the collar and begins to drip to the floor. The creature sniffs the air before moving closer to the body and lunging at him. He hits the floor with a heart stopping thud.

"Hey! Grady! Up here!" someone shouts.

Owen follows the noise to find the barrel of a gun pointing out of a small gap or viewing window.

"Wait there! Someone's coming down for ya!" the same voice tells him.

He remains stationary for what feels like hours.

"I don't care how long it takes," the voice says, "just find the others and meet me up that staircase!"

The crank on the door squeals open; he can see a group of people gather on the ledge, all aiming their weapons at the creature, which is happily chomping down on its trainer. It turns to the group, tilting its head slightly. It grunts before looking back and forth between its trainer and the ledge. It finally snorts before returning to its meal.

"Alright, maestro, you're up."

"Okay, okay!"

 _Oh thank god!_

"And you know what you're doing, right? You saw what he did?"

"Yes," Lowery grunts.

Owen finally allows himself to breathe as the room is, once again, illuminated with a red glow and a buzzer blaring from the speakers. The creature picks up the body before moving out of the room and into the tunnel.

"Get that gate shut; we'll cover the door," another tells Lowery. He moves to look over the railing. "We're securing the room before we get down there. Just hang on!"

Having the zip tie from behind his back cut is one of the best moments of Owen's past twenty four hours; he rolls his cramping shoulder to stretch the muscles which makes him feel infinitely better. Once he settles, Lowery places his arms tentatively around him, patting him a few times on the back.

"Glad we got to you in time," Lowery tells him.

"Yeah," Owen replies, hesitantly, "me too."

Lowery pulls away, briefly smiling at his fellow survivor before moving aside. "You're probably wondering who these guys are."

One of the men moves closer to him, extending an arm; "Mr Grady, I don't believe we've met, I'm James Lambert."

His voice confirms that he's the man from the window. Owen offers his uninjured arm and shakes his hand.

"We're Group B, sorry we took so long," Lambert adds, "we took a boat up the river but there was a crane and other debris blocking our path; we had to divert quite a long way before we got here."

"We thought that you hadn't made it," Owen replies.

"Some of us didn't, we had to take out some raptors unfortunately," he replies, grimly. "But we're here now. We found Lowery and a few of Hoyte's crew, but not the man himself."

"That guy said that some had been used for training purposes," Owen tells him.

"Yes, some of my men saw it first-hand," Lambert says, "he'd been doing the rounds before he came here. Luckily, we got here and Lowery managed to figure out the system before you became another victim."

Owen scans the group behind him; "Have you seen Claire?"

"Who? Ms Dearing?" Lambert asks, "no."

The last time he saw her was when she strode down that corridor with Hoyte's pistol. She turned the corner before the room became clogged with smoke and the air became thick, making it hard to breathe. He doesn't remember anything after that.

"Hey, Claire's tough," Lowery tells him, as if reading his thoughts. "We'll find her."

"But first, we need to move," Lambert interjects, "we're going to move up the building avoiding major entrances and exits. I have men checking other cells like this for Hoyte and other survivors, and I'm sure Ms Dearing will be somewhere safe.

"Wu will most likely be near the top of the building; we've seen shafts like those in old houses, but modern and refrigerated, so it's likely that these are used to transport DNA or whatever they use up and down the building."

"And how many floors is that?"

"Sixteen, but we're estimating more as that figure was from an old blueprint. Will you be okay to carry on with…?" He nods to Owen's sling.

Owen looks over the large graze on his arm before adjusting his injured arm. "I'm good."

"Okay," Lambert replies, "time to move out then." He rotates an index finger above his head; his group immediately rise to their feet and check their weapons before heading over to the door.

Another door immediately outside leads them to a concrete staircase that spirals above them; they buddy-up, weapons pointed in front of them. As they slowly climb, they take each corner with caution, covering each entrance as the ascend floor by floor. Owen lags behind, every strained breath sends shooting pains down his arm. He finally comes to a stop at the base of another set of stairs. Lambert drifts to the rear of the group to join Owen, he retrieves a small canteen from his pack.

"You good?" he asks, handing him the container.

"Mmm," Owen replies, before taking swig. He recoils in disgust, coughing and then groaning in pain; "what the hell is that?!"

"Some liquid courage: a strong rum," Lambert replies. "No better pain killer than hard liquor."

Owen nods slightly before slowly breathing through his nose. It makes his stomach churn. He immediately hands the canteen back, before the smell of liquor makes him feel worse.

It reminds him of the long nights with a floor littered with bottles, plates and cutlery; months of alcohol numbing his mind and body, lulling him to sleep every night, making him not care about anything. The evening's consumptions made him clumsy and more emotional than he'd care to admit.

There were nights where he'd fall asleep, only to wake fifteen or so minutes later grasping at the cold side of the bed, before the realisation hit him like a freight train. The mornings were worse, but he learnt to keep the blinds closed, avoiding sunlight as if it would burn his skin. After two weeks of near constant drinking, his nights and days became indiscernible from one another. He craved human contact, but the only person who knew exactly how he had felt had left.

She knew him. By week one, they knew how they liked their coffee; week two passed and they knew how to cook each other's favourite meal; by week three, they knew just what to do when the nightmares made their appearances.

He felt like he'd lost his mind when she left; he needed her. It was like a psychic link between them. When he walked in on her repeatedly barging the closet door, he managed to calm her down, pulling her into a tight embrace and calming her down so they could talk. When she found him with a deep cut on his hand after a bottle had been thrown at the wall, she cleaned him up and took him to the ER for stitches. They needed no explanations, no excuses, they just got on with it. They kept each other sane.

 _And after this,_ he tells himself, _we'll go back to that; we'll be okay, we can make it._

That all happened five years ago; it's in the past, he has to remember that.

The air begins to smell cleaner, as if run through several filters. The hairs on his arms and back of his neck begin to stand on end. As they shuffle down the corridor, their steps echo louder and louder until those up front stop in their tracks; they grind to a halt. The footsteps continue to echo.

"Hands up!" someone shouts out.

The group pauses, turning to one another, then to Lambert.

"Do as she says," he tells them, raising his own hands about his head.

They obey and follow his lead. Several armed guards enter the hallway, relieving each of Lambert's people of their weapons and shaking them down, two by two.

A female officer strides up to Owen, her eyes travel up and down before she speaks.

"You're supposed to be in the vault," she says.

"Yeah," Owen replies, "didn't really like it there, too many genetic abominations."

The corner of her mouth rises.

"Shame you didn't like Wu's latest creation. But I guess your opinion doesn't matter too much." She shrugs. "Time for this silly game of cat and mouse to come to an end; you're coming with me." She turns away, to address the others. "The rest of you will be taken back to the chamber."

"What's the chamber?" Lambert asks.

"Nothing for you to worry about, your colleagues on the other hand…"

She nods at her second in command before pushing Lambert and Owen forwards, past the piles of collected assault rifles and their surrendering team. She grips Owen's injured shoulder, before directing him and Lambert through a side exit.

 **A/N:** Sorry this has taken so long, I had the best intentions… but have had to move house and working quite a lot. I will try to update as soon as I can.

Thanks for reading,

Lukascovitz


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter 26**

For someone who is as obsessed with science and advanced technology as Wu, Owen though that his office would have had more chrome. Instead, upon his entrance, they were greeted by wood panelled walls; a glass-top desk with a tree trunk sanded down for its base; wide windows overlooking the canopy and a hardwood floor. There are a few gadgets dotted here and there, a clock, iMac and wireless phone; but no TVs or projectors.

Wu shuffles towards them silently in his cotton khaki pants, he folds down the collar of his polo top and smiles at them.

"Owen," Wu politely greets them. "It's is so good to see you."

Owen shakes his head in reply.

"Reynolds, have they been searched?" Wu addresses the woman in black.

"Yes," she flatly replies.

"Good." He turns back to Owen and Lambert, extending an arm to two chairs facing the desk. "Take a seat."

Owen's legs yearn for some respite, but he refuses to let that man boss him around.

"It wasn't a request. Take a seat. We have things to discuss." His voice grows impatient, as if he's taking to one of his disobedient creations.

Owen sighs, nodding to Lambert. A miniscule battle to lose in their war.

Wu follows them, his steps are silent in what appear to be some rustic pair of sandals. It makes Owen snort; it's like he's a completely different man, and has come here to retreat from the vastly advanced technological world.

Wu makes his way around the desk, takes a seat and leans back; the leather chair groans slightly under his weight. He pauses for a second, as if choosing his next words carefully.

"First off, I would like to thank you, Mr Grady. Without you, much of this research would not be possible. I saw through the camera system that you have met out latest masterpiece."

"Mhm," Owen responds.

"Your thoughts?" Wu leans forward.

He feels like he should shrug, if it wasn't so much agony.

 _Try to play it nonchalantly, maybe he'll lose interest._

"What? That thing? Pretty unnecessary, don't you think?"

"Unnecessary?" Wu sits up straight in his seat. "It's a major step up from the Indominus! More advanced, better trained. We used some tapes of you and your raptors for that, they were very useful."

"But it's not a raptor; it's an abomination. It shouldn't exist."

Wu snorts. He leans back again, studying him. He places a finger on his lips before leaning forward over the top of his desk.

"Neither should your girls, but they do…or did. Last I heard, they turned on you, evidently picking a more capable leader."

 _He's trying to get under my skin_ , _but he didn't have to work with that ass, Hoskins._

"Yeah," he coolly replies. "Before they ripped your Indominus to pieces."

Wu's pupils dilate slightly. "That's interesting; their bond with you must've been strong for them to have done that. That…that is what makes a great trainer; an animal must have a bond with someone in order to obey."

Owen snorts again.

 _And like the Indominus, that monster from before had no respect for anyone else._

"It's what we've lacked these past few years: good trainers. Sure, you can pay someone to teach them to stay and go on command, but trust? Not many people can build such a relationship with them. Which is why I wanted you here."

Owen recoils slightly, before turning to Lambert.

"What? You think that it was pure luck that go you here? We knew that you were on the island long before you met up with our new Indominus; we had to send a raptor to stop things from going any further."

"If you knew we were here, why just let us wander right into your base?" Lambert asks.

"Why not? You were coming for us anyway, why waste resources?" He shrugs. "Besides, it's not like we're going to let you go."

"So you let us in and now you're telling us about your plans?"

"Precisely," Wu smiles, "well, I informed people to not impede you, but McAbee had other plans. Sorry about that, I've been trying to get rid of that man for a few weeks, luckily he was," he raises his hands to air quote: "killed in the line of duty."

"So what happens now?" Owen asks, knowing full well from the amount of movies he's watched that the villain doesn't give up his entire plan to the good guys to just let them go.

"Now? We can patch you up if you want, pain meds, a comfy bed until you can start to train our new raptors. They're due to hatch in a couple of weeks and we need someone with your experience to lead them."

"And you think that I'm just going to agree to this?"

"I thought that leaving here with your life would be a good incentive," Wu responds. "I see that that may not be the case."

 _Sorry, Claire._

"No, I'd rather die than work for you," Owen responds. "What would make you think that I would agree to that?"

"The chance to do some good, to earn a decent wage and teach raptors or something more challenging. Not many people get this type of opportunity."

"Not many people _want_ this type of opportunity, death or possibility of death by carnivore but with some money bonuses added in."

Wu leans back again, his eyes travel up and down his body once more; he's thinking.

" _Jurassic World_ must've messed you up good for you to refuse an opportunity like this," he finally says. "For such a traumatic event, you seem to have come out of it pretty well."

"It wasn't easy," Owen admits. He tightens his grip on the arms of the chair.

 _It still isn't, but he doesn't need to know that._

"I can imagine, running for your life, quite literally. An uncertain future, with little accomplished."

"Well, some service in the Navy and training raptors…I did accomplish something," Owen counters.

"Raptors that abandoned you and a government that sold you to InGen as quickly as they could. I'm sure they got a few ships with the money we spent on you."

"What you getting at, Wu? I did my service, my raptors came back. Mind games won't work here."

"Oh no, no mind games," Wu replies, "just pointing out simple facts. You'd have a use here, Grady. The real world doesn't mix well with the abnormal."

"Abnormal?"

 _What's he getting at?_

"Dinosaurs are not normal; they're not at the zoo, they don't run free in the Sahara or the Nevada desert. Surviving a dinosaur attack, that's beyond abnormal. Society wouldn't treat you the same, you'd be forever known as the raptor trainer. And if details got out that it was you who led the raptors to kill my Indominus, and turned against you, killing people, what do you think the headlines would be?

Besides, I know that you've been working with Carbine, it's why you're here. My team in archives told me that a file on the Indominus had gone missing, a report from my analysis on the first model. I guess that someone had snagged it before leaving; luckily, much of the information had been redacted. So six years later, you finally make it here. Let's figure out this timeline."

He stands and silently moves around his desk, leaning against the polished glass.

"Why did it take you six years to get here? If you had Carbine backing you, then money nor resources would be the main cause, so my guess is access, which would need a high level employee. A hacker or tech, like that Lowery guy Claire had in the Operations room, wouldn't have a chance with the firewalls in place, which means that you must've been waiting for Ms Dearing."

"You're wrong," Owen blurts out.

Wu smiles.

 _Shit! Why the hell did I say anything?_

"Of course, that makes the most sense. This raises the question: where is she?"

Owen fights the urge to jump up and deck the guy; but the pain has already begun to grow, sending lightning rods of pain down into his chest. Breathing becomes more difficult as he fights the urge to pass out; he rocks slightly back and forth, moving his head side to side a couple of times to shake off whatever is pulling him to sleep.

Owen's vision begins to prickle with black dots; the solace of sleep becoming more and more inviting. Lambert touches his arm, but it does little to keep him from passing out.

"I can't," he mumbles, before he slumps in his chair.

"Shit, Owen!" Lambert shakes his good arm.

"Well, it seems even the best of us lose sometimes." Wu's smile grows.

"So what's gonna happen then? We're going to work for you? Or are we fodder for your latest crop of man eating monsters?" Lambert challenges, keeping one eye on Owen.

"He will," Wu responds, pointing at the raptor trainer. "You," he pauses, "yeah, your more likely to become the latter. Your men already have that fate; human is, strangely enough, a delicacy around here. As it turns out, there are not many people who want to be eaten for a living."

"So, this is a joke to you? You're a smart man, Wu. Your reputation really does precede you, and yet, here you are, joking about murder and the atrocities that you've committed."

"You're forgetting one thing though, I'm untouchable."

Lambert leans back in his chair and snorts.

"No, really. I chose this location for many reasons, but first and foremost, the lack of interruptions from the outside world. Secondly, everyone is at war, whether people want to or not, a completely passive world doesn't exist and war, war costs-"

"Yeah, we heard all this from McAbee before he was fed to that creature."

"People want better weapons and we provide that, in return, they keep others away from us. Unfortunately, some do fall through the cracks. But you're the first ones to make it as far as this. Carbine have sent people before, so did Masrani Global; they all had the same fate, and were helpful in training our third batch of raptors."

"You're lying," Lambert replies, shifting in his seat. "Why would they send even more people to this god forsaken place?"

"You didn't think that a company worth billions would just pin all their hopes on one party?" Wu smiles, leaning in closer. "Similar to any experiment, it is trial and error. Learning through doing is the only way to guarantee success; believe me, as a scientist, I know what comes from the fallout of successful experiments."

"You call this a successful experiment? Tens of people dead, multiple animals manipulated? That counts as success for you?"

"Was the intended end result achieved? Yes," Wu reasons with him. "You are alive and this is the furthest you've been; I'd call it the most successful attempt yet."

A knock at the door distracts Wu, he stands from his perch on the desk and moves to the door. Lambert shakes Owen's arm again, but to no avail.

"We have a situation in the lab," someone says.

"Right, I'm coming," Wu sighs. "Stay here and guard the door."

"Yes, sir."

Wu turns to Lambert and Owen. "I'll be back soon."


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter 27**

As soon as the door closes, Lambert scurries to his feet; he moves closer to Owen, lightly slapping his cheek.

"Hey, Owen, wake up! C'mon, man!"

Owen's head shifts, but his eyes don't open.

"Shit!" Lambert takes a step back, avoiding the desk.

 _No back up, no weapons: all in all, we're screwed._

He turns, looking at his reflection in the glass, then at the keyboard and trackpad. He grabs them before spinning the monitor around.

A blurred screen appears with a small text box in the centre: 'enter password'.

 _Wu's not stupid enough to have something simple._

He shoves the keyboard away; it skims over the smooth surface and crashes onto the floor. He strides to the windows, looking out over the locals residents browsing the canopy for the freshest greens. He travels the length of the window, hand skimming the surface of the frame until he is close to the door. It swings towards him; he'd have no chance of over powering the guard outside, especially with Owen out cold. Their chances are slipping through their fingers like sand.

"There has to be a way," Lambert tells himself. "God dammit, Owen!"

He's lost his men, he's backed into a corner with few prospects to get out alive.

Unless…he jogs back over to the desk, picking up the phone. He dials a number; it beeps a few times before going to voicemail.

"It's all gone wrong, we're aborting mission." He turns to Owen, still passed out on the chair beside him. "Owen's dead, Root! We're gonna try and make it back. Don't phone this number back. Whatever you do, don't call this number!"

He hangs up, putting the phone back down whilst watching Owen's chest rise and fall.

 _And now we wait._

Something's happening. Claire didn't try to kid herself that this many people were needed on a day to day basis; even at _Jurassic World,_ they didn't have this many people, even on high alert. She moves aside, allowing squads to move prisoners down hallways. They protest, but struggle against the plastic zip ties securing their wrists behind their backs. One prisoner down the hall is too vocal, earning a right hook from one of Wu's people. He staggers for a moment, but stands up straight, mouthing off again.

Even though she can't see his face and the volume only seems to be rising, she would recognise him anywhere. She shuffles down past more people, her disguise doing its job until she gets close enough. Someone is behind Lowery, securing a rag which is being used to gag him. Lowery squirms when he sees her, before he buckles under another right hander.

"Loud one, eh?" Claire asks, attempting to be nonchalant about seeing him again. She can feel her heart beating faster: one wrong move and they could both be put down.

"Yeah. He hasn't shut up the entire time," the man who gagged him replies.

"Dude's got spirit," another one adds, "shame he'll be going into the chamber."

They chuckle to one another; Claire doesn't attempt to join in, it'll just sound fake.

"What's the chamber?"

"You must be new," the first replies. "It's like a testing facility for the younglings, though, there're only raptors in there at the moment."

"Want me to take him, give you guys a rest?"

"Uh, yeah! Couple of us are needed upstairs in an office. Some guy's dropped dead. Probably another loose juvenile. Don't worry, you'll get used to that."

"Sounds like fun," Claire replies. "So which way to the chamber?"

They give her vague directions; she nods, not really paying attention to where she should go, but where to avoid going.

"You good on your own?"

"Yeah, shouldn't be too much trouble now you guys have taken the fight out of him." She loops her arm under Lowery's and drags him down the corridor as they instructed. "Play along, we're gonna get out of this," she mutters to him.

He responds with a slight groan. They follow more prisoners before ducking out into a stairwell. Her stomach lurches.

 _I can't save everyone._ No matter what anyone else thinks, she tried her best. _I've got to be practical here._ She was lucky to get Lowery out.

She moves to him, removing the gag and finding a clean section of the cloth to wipe blood away from the cuts on his forehead, and then tend to the cuts on either side of his lips.

"Where…did…you…go?" Lowery asks.

"I got separated," she condenses it. "I'll explain everything later, but where's everyone else?"

"Owen's okay, he got taken with Lambert." He winces as he rolls his shoulders. "Root's second team found us."

"They're alive?" she replies, moving to check the stairs for any patrols.

"Yeah, they were taken though. Probably to Wu."

"So they'll be in a lab somewhere? Wu must have somewhere around here, he liked being the top dog, so we should head up. His…office." Her stomach sinks. "Those guys said that they were on dead-" Her throat closes up. "No." She coughs, refusing to let herself go. "He's got to be okay. Sorry, Lowery," she pulls him to his feet.

He groans as she works at the zip tie, moving his hands back and forth to loosen the plastic. It begins to cut deeper into his wrists before the catch finally snaps.

"Claire, it could be Lambert," he weakly adds. "It could be a loose animal…or a different office."

"Come on," she replies, ignoring his last comments. "We need to move now."

"That the only one you've got?" Lowery nods at the weapon attached to her hip.

"Yeah, couldn't risk getting recognised in a room full of guns. We're just gonna have to make do," she replies.

 _Was it quick with a gun?_

A new scenario enters her head with every stair.

 _Or did he use one of his creations?_

 _Velociraptor?_

 _Indominus?_

 _That new one?_

Finally, they reach a hallway.

 _No! Stop it! You can mourn later, you have to finish this!_

Her ankle begins to throb again, worsening with every step.

"You okay?" Lowery asks, noticing her even more pronounced limp.

"I'm good," she replies through gritted teeth.

"Claire, stop." Lowery shoulder barges one of the concrete walls, taking long and slow breaths. "We need to take a minute, please."

She exhales, before climbing back down to the small landing, taking a seat on the second to last step.

"I want to get to him too," Lowery admits, sliding down to the floor. "I do, but we can't do this now. We have to take a moment."

He snorts; a smile appears on his face.

"Remember, six years ago, when you told me to open the gate to Paddock 9?"

"Yeah, I told you to 'man up'." She smiles fondly at the memory.

"That gave me a kick up the ass, for sure," Lowery says, "you're strong, Claire. You got stuff done back then. Even now, you're putting yourself before others. But you need to take a break."

"We need to find him, Lowery. After the _incident,_ we said that we'd stick together. But I ran, back then and today…yesterday," -she pauses, realising that she has no idea exactly how much time has passed - "recently. I can't do that to him now."

"I heard what happened," he admits, "he was in pieces after you left." He holds his hands up. "Not tryin' to make you feel guilty, you must've had your reasons. Ever since we tracked you to Connecticut, he's been different. He was dying to be given the green light to go; but Cartwright needed other things to happen first. He disobeyed direct orders to find you."

"If he's such a good gut, then why do I keep running away from him?"

"Fight or flight," Lowery replies. "And you're fighting now."

"And what if I'm too late?"

"We'll find that out," he replies, using the wall to get to his feet. "I'm okay, we can go."

She nods, standing up and gritting her teeth through the excruciating pain from her ankle. "Let's finish this."

Claire enters the bright hallway, pistol clutched in both hands; Lowery behind her, almost breathing down her neck. The cinderblock walls have been replaced by white paint and photos of different fauna and skeletons. One door stands slightly ajar at the end; a foot is wedged between the door and its frame. It's dragged back into the room and the door clicks closed.

"Shit," Claire says, "must be something in there. Lowery, stay here; if it goes wrong, just run."

"Uh-huh," he replies between breaths. "But I'll…keep watch for you."

As she approaches the door, she can feel her heart hammer away in her chest; the pistol slips a little in her sweaty palms.

She takes a deep breath, grabs the handle and barges the door open.

Immediately, her eyes fall on two men unconscious on the floor, one half naked; another man stands over them, seemingly removing the man's clothing.

"Don't move," she tells the clothing thief, pointing the pistol at his head.

"Don't shoot, don't shoot!" he pleads, dropping the unconscious man's arm and holding up his own in surrender. "I can…hey, wait a minute, you're Claire Dearing! Oh thank god!"

"What the hell is going on?"

"I'm on your side! I'm working for Carbine, for Root, I'm Lambert," he replies, dropping his hands down. "I've been keeping your boyfriend safe!"

"Owen?"

The man steps aside, revealing a drowsy Owen behind him.

"Ohmygodyou'reokay!" She smiles, quickly limping over to him.

"Hey!" he groggily replies.

"Call Lowery in," she tells Lambert.

Lambert moves away to the door; Claire moves in, giving Owen a brief kiss before leaning her forehead against his.

"I'm so glad you're okay," Owen tells her, "you scared the hell out of me."

"I love you," she whispers to him.

He jerks his head back, a wide smile stretches across his lips. "I love you too."


End file.
